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BY THE AUTHOR OF “ QUO VADIS.” 


25 CENTS. 


THE 


FATE OF A SOLDIER. 


NEW YORK : 

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANV 
57 Rose Street. 





I 




\ 




The Fate of a Soldier. 


BY 


HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ, 

Author of “Quo Vadis,” “The Third Woman,” “Let 
Us Follow Him,” Etc. 


Translated from the Original Polish by 

J5 CHRISTIAN,,BAY. 


THE SU^fNYSIDE SERIES. No. 103. October, 1898. Issued Quarterly. 
$1.00 per year. Entered at New York Post-Office as second-class matter. 
(Copyright 1898 by J. S. Ogilvie Publishing Co.) 


NEW YORK : 

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY, 

57 Rose Street. 








\0 


1896 



TVi/O COPIES RECEiVED* 




THE FATE OF A SOLDIER. 


CHAPTEE I. 

The name of my hero was Bartek Slowik, 
but owing to his habit of opening his eyes 
wide when addressed by some one the neigh- 
bors had nicknamed him ‘^Staring Bartek.” 
On close observation he resembled but faintly 
the bird implied by his name, — the night- 
ingale, but the narrow extent of his mental 
faculties coupled with his truly Homeric sim- 
plicity had inflicted upon himf, by way of in- 
demniflcation, another appellative, namely. 
Foolish Bartek.” The latter was the most 
popular and figures as the only one con- 
cerned in this narrative, although Bartek 


4 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


possessed still another, distinctly official 
name. As the words czlowick and Slowik 
are consonous to German ears, and since the 
Germans are apt to translate barbaric Sla- 
vonic words into their own, civilized tongue, 
the following scene had taken place before 
the Board of Conscription ; 

“What is your name ? ” inquired the offi- 
cer, addressing Bartek. 

“ Slowik. ” 

“Schloik ? — Ach, ja.— Well.” 

And the officer entered his name as “Man.” 

Bartek lived at a small village called Pog- 
nembin, which name is applied to a great 
many towns, both in the grand duchy of 
Poznan and in other provinces of the Old 
Repubhc. Besides a small piece of land, a 
hut and a few cows he still owned a motley 
horse and Magda, his wife. Thanks to this 
fortunate coincidence of circumstances, he 
was able to pass his life peacefully and leis- 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


5 


urely, in harmony with the sense of the 
verse : 

His wife’s name was Magda, and motley was his steed ; 

God will forever help His true children in their need. 

His life passed according to the will of God, 
and only when God caused the outbreak of 
war was Bartek troubled. Words passed to 
the effect that every one must join the army 
and leave his house and his fields in the care 
of the women-folks. The inhabitants of 
Pognembin were averagely very poor. In 
winter Bartek had secured work at a factory 
and earned a little for the support of the 
household. But what was now to be done 1 
Who might know when this war with the 
Frenchmen would come to an end ? When 
Magda had read the proclamation she said, 
with an oath: “May all the plagues strike 
them ! Although you are a fool, I feel sorry 
for you. Surely, the Frenchmen won’t give 
you up, but knock your head off.” 


0 THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 

Bartek thought his wife was right. He 
feared the Frenchmen like pestilence, and, 
besides, he was sorely troubled. What harm 
had these Frenchmen done him? Why 
should he be brought to some terrible, un- 
known country, where not a single living 
soul would feel kindly towards him ? As long 
as he had remained in Pognembin things 
went along fairly well ; but after having re- 
ceived his marching order he realized that 
the old place was really better than anything 
else under the sun. Still, matters could not 
be changed; fate had decided his course, and 
he must go. So Bartek embraced his wife 
and Franck, their two years old boy, and left 
his house, spitting as he went, and made the 
sign of the cross. Magda followed him. 
Their parting was by no means marked by 
excessive tenderness. The woman and the 
boy sobbed ; Bartek said again and again : 
''Well, well. Be quiet, be quiet.” At length 


TEE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


7 


they struck the highroad and discovered that 
the whole population of Pognembin was sit- 
uated exactly as they were, themselves. 

The entire village is on its feet. Large 
number of conscribed soldiers are on their 
way to the railroad station, accompanied by 
their wives and children. Every one is dis- 
pirited. Only a party of young fellows who 
stride along comfortably smoking their pipes, 
bear an aspect of indifference; some of them 
are already drunk, and shout and bawl in 
hoarse tones, as they go. 

One of the German colonists of Pognembin 
begins to sing “ Die Wacht am Rhein he 
is, withal, in a state of deadly fear. The 
whole confused, party-colored multitude 
from which the bayonets of the gens d^armes 
are glittering forth advances amidst cries, 
noise and shouting towards the one end of 
the village, following the fences. The sob- 
bing women have thrown their arms around 


8 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


the shoulders of the soldiers. Some old wo- 
man exhibits a yellow tooth and clinches her 
hand with a threatening grimace. Another 
is swearing at something, or some one, and 
shouts: ‘‘ The Lord will make you suffer for 
our tears.” Exclamations are heard: “Franck, 
Kaska, Juzek, farewell ! ” Dogs bark; the 
bells chime, and the dean himself, is pray- 
ing for the souls of the doomed men. Many 
of those who are now on their way to the 
station will never return, and all realize this. 
The war will swallow them all up, and the 
war does not give them back. Ploughs are 
destined to rust in the fields, for Pognembin 
has declared war against France. Pognembin 
could not reconcile herself to the supremacy 
of Napoleon the Third, and the problem of 
the Spanish succession had affected her 
deeply. The chime of the church bells at- 
tract the multitude ; off go hats and helmets 
before the crucifix. The air is filled with 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


9 


golden dust from the road, for the day is 
warm and dry. At both sides long stretches 
of ripe corn sways before the breeze, nod- 
ding with heavy ears. Far, far up in the 
blue ether the sky -larks twitter with might 
and main. 

The railroad station. Larger crowds yet. 
There are also the conscribed soldiers from 
the neighboring villages. Upper Krzywda, 
Lower Krzywda, from Wywlaszczynce, Nie- 
dola and Mizerow. Uproar, turmoil and con- 
fusion! The walls of the waiting rooms are 
covered with copies of the summons. ‘‘ For 
the sake of God and for their country ” are 
the men going to war, — for the purpose of 
defending their threatened families, their 
wives and children, their houses and home- 
steads, and the Frenchmen are especially en- 
raged against Pognembin, Upper Krzywda, 
Lower Krzywda, Wywlaszczynce, Niedola, 
and Mizerow, Such is, at least, the impres- 


10 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


sion produced upon those who read the sum- 
mons. The whole space of the waiting room 
becomes fairly clogged by tobacco smoke 
which veils the plackards. It is difficult to 
make one’s self understood in the noise. Per- 
sons come and go, shout and scream. Ger- 
man words of command, short, precise and 
inflexible, are heard from the platform. 

The bell sounds. 

From far away the snorting locomotive is 
approaching nearer and nearer. It seems as 
though war, herself, is advancing. 

Another sounding of the bell. Every one 
shudders. A woman cries out: There they 
are, there they are,” and a voice rises out of 
the tumult : ^‘The Frenchmen are coming.” 
For a moment the women as well as the 
future heroes of Sedan are seized by panic. 

In a short while the train has reached the 
platform. Everywhere are caps and coats 
trimmed with red. There is a stir not un- 


THE FATE OP A 80LDIER 


11 


like the crowding in an ant-hill. In the 
depths of the freight cars bright cannon with 
long, darksome bodies suggest their presence. 
A forest of bayonets protrudes from the open 
cars. Evidently the soldiers have been or- 
dered to sing, for the train is fairly shaking 
with the echo of sturdy voices. A feeling of 
power and strength issues from this train, 
interminable as it seems. 

Out on the platform the recruits are being 
mustered. Those who can say farewell once 
more hasten to do so. Bartek hfts both his 
arms and stares — and stares — 

‘‘Good-by, Magda.” 

“ Oh, my poor boy ! ” 

“You will never see me again.” 

“No, no, — never!” 

“ It cannot be helped.” 

“The Holy Virgin shield you.” 

“Good-bye, and take good care of the 
house.” 

The weeping woman has thrown her arms 
around him. ‘ ‘ God keep you. ” 


12 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


The last moment has come. Wailing, sob- 
bing and moaning suppress all other sounds. 
Farewell, farewell! But the soldiers have 
already separated from this confused throng. 
They segregate into a solid mass which con- 
tracts itself into squares and parallelograms 
and moves along with the steadiness and 
regularity of a machine. A command is 
heard: Enter the coaches.” The squares 
and parallelograms are broken in the middle 
and wend their way in thin chains toward 
the coaches, where they disappear. Far 
ahead of it all the hissing locomotive throws 
out clouds of blue smoke. In another mo- 
ment it snorts like a dragon and sputters 
forth streams of hot steam. The moaning 
of the women reaches its highest pitch. 
Some bury their faces in their aprons; others 
stretch out their arms toward the coaches. 
The sobbing voices repeat the names of hus- 
bands and sons. 

'‘Farewell, Bartek!” cries Magda from 


THE PATE OF A SOLDIER 


18 


below. ‘‘ Be careful of yourself. The Holy 
Virgin be with you. Good-bye! Oh, gra- 
cious Heaven! ’’ 

‘‘and take good care of the house,” 

shouts Bartek. 

Suddenly the train received a jerk. The 
cars were pulled forward and set in motion. 

“ Remember your wife and children — ! ” 
called Magda, keeping steps with the move- 
ment of the train. “ Farewell, in the name 
of the Father and the Son and the Holy 
Ghost.” 

The movement of the train became swifter 
and swifter, as it carried away the warriors 
from Pognembin and Upper and Lower Krz- 
ywda, from Niedola and Mizerow. 


14 


TBE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


CHAPTER II. 

Magda and her weeping townswomen re- 
turned to Pognembin while the train, lined 
with shining bayonets, proceeded on its way 
into the grey unknown, Bartek among the 
passengers. Grey in grey, such is the shade 
of the landscape by which Pognembin is 
little by little, but surely swallowed. At 
length the linden trees are fading out, but 
the church steeple enshrouds itself in a 
golden haze, as the sun shines upon it. 
Finally the lindens disappear altogether, and 
the glowing cross dwindles down into a 
sparkling point. As long as this point re- 
mains in view Bartek watches it; but when 
it is no more visible his despair is complete. 
His energies relax, and a feeling of weak- 
ness overpowers him. 

Then he would stare at the ^‘Korporal” 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


16 


who was uow, next to God, his master and 
authority. What would happen next de- 
pended upon the officer’s movements. Bar- 
teck, himself, knows nothing and compre- 
hends nothing. The officer is seated on a 
bench, smoking a pipe and holding a musket 
between his knees. The smoke envelops his 
earnest face with its vexed expression in a 
cloud. But this face is watched by others 
than Bartek ; he is observed from all sides 
of the car, silently, but attentively. At Pog- 
nembin or Krzywda every Bartek or Woitek 
is master of his own movements; here, the 
officer is in command. When he thunders 
forth his ‘^Eyes right,” or ‘^Eyes left,” 
every one directs his eyes accordingly. The 
inquisitive gaze of the privates seems to ask: 

What will now happen to us ? ” He, how- 
ever, knows no more about the situation 
than the others, and would be happy to learn 
something from one of the superior officers. 
The soldiers are afraid of asking any ques- 


16 TEE FATE OF A SOLDIER 

tions of him, for war has brokeii out, with 
court-martials and other appurtenances. No 
one knows what is allowed and what is not; 
at any rate, the soldiers are ignorant thereof, 
and become frightened at the mere sound 
of such words as Kriegsgerichty — something 
they do not comprehend, and of which they 
are so much more afraid. They feel that 
this officer is at present far more important 
to them than during the manoeuvres at Poz- 
nan. Not only is he aware of what things 
will happen, but without him no step what- 
ever can be taken. 

In the meantime the Korporal evidently 
grew tired of holding his rifle, for he threw 
it over to Bartek, who seized the weapon, 
kept his breath, opened his eyes wide and 
gaped at the man without, however, gain- 
ing any consolation. 

The oppression was general ; even the offi- 
cer found himself, too, in a state of uneasi- 
ness. At the stations where singing and 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 17 

shouting prevailed he alighted and rushed 
from one place to another, distributing 
orders and using a great many invectives for 
the purpose of showing off before the higher 
ofiScers, but no sooner is the train put in 
motion than silence falls upon the men, him- 
self -included. He, too, views the world from 
two sides: One bright and agreeable,— his 
wife, his house and his warm bed; the other 
dark and gloomy, — France and the war. 
His enthusiasm, as well as that of the army, 
was ready, at any time, to evaporate. 

The panting, snorting train sped across 
the country towards the far-away distant. 
At every station fresh coaches and locomo- 
tives were added to it; helmets, cannon, 
horses and bayonets, and the ensigns of 
Ulan regiments were in evidence at all quar- 
ters. The evening was beautiful. The sun 
set in a glorious red; far up in the sky hung 
numerous little clouds, daubed in a rosy hue 
towards the western horizon. The train had 


18 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


ultimately ceased stopping for recruits and 
rattled along towards the setting sun as 
though it were bent upon a plunge into a 
lake of blood. From the open coach occu- 
pied by the privates of Pognembin, includ- 
ing Bartek, the view commanded an array 
of towns, villages, storks which crouched on 
one leg in their nests, houses and fruit- 
gardens. It all remained behind, and it all 
was daubed in red. The men grew bolder 
when the officer, reclining upon a sack, fell 
into slumber with a kaolin pipe in his mouth. 
Woitek Gwizdala, a farmer from Pognem- 
bin, seated himself next to Bartek and 
jogged him with his elbow. 

“Bartek, look here.” 

Bartek turned around and fixed his specu- 
lative, staring glance upon the man. 

“Why do you sit there and gape like a 
calf which is carried to the shambles?” 
whispered Gwizdala. “Your poor wretch 
of a body will go there in time, don’t you 
doubt it.” 


TEE FATE OP A SOLDIER 


19 


Oh, no — no — groaned Bartek. 

‘‘Are you frightened ? ” inquired Gwizdala. 

“ Should I not be afraid — ? ” 

The red glow surrounding the setting sun 
grew deeper and deeper. Gwizdala pointed 
towards it and whispered : “Do you see that 
bright tint % Do you know what it is, fool ? 
It is blood. We are yet in Poland — in our 
own land, you know, — but far, far away, 
where you see those shining colors hes 
France.” 

“ Shall we soon be there ? ” 

“Are you in a hurry, perhaps ? Oh, yes, 
people say it is far, far away. But the 
Frenchmen will meet us somewhere on the 
road, depend upon it.” 

Bartek^s Pognembinal brains were in a 
state of great activity. After a short pause 
he resumed : 

“Woitek.” 

“What?” 

“What kind of people are they, these 
Frenchmen ? ” 


20 THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 

Woitek’s wisdom became confronted, at 
this juncture, with a deep that swallowed 
him up before he realized how he might save 
himself. He knew so much: The Frenchmen 
were, — well, they were Frenchmen, of 
course, and some old man or woman had told 
him they were always ready for bloodshed. 

Bartek repeated his question. 

‘‘What kind of people are the French- 
men ? ” 

“ The deuce knows what they are.” 

Woitek knew of three nations: The Po- 
landers in the middle; “Moscowits” atone 
side, Germans at the other. In his effort ot 
being explicit rather than accurate he said : 

“ What kind of people ? Why, how can I 
best explain it! I suppose they are a kind of 
Germans, only a great deal worse.” 

“Oh, those rascals.” 

Until then Bartek had entertained only 
one feeling towards the Frenchmen, namely, 
a feeling of inexplicable terror. Now the 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


21 


Prussian soldier experienced a pronounced 
patriotic sensation of disgust. As, however, 
he did not yet fully comprehend the intelli- 
gence, he continued : 

‘‘ But if that is so, the Germans will fight 
people of their own kind.” 

Here Woitek, following the example of 
Sokrates, resolved upon adopting the method 
of the hkeness, and rephed: 

‘‘Did your dog never fight mine, per- 
haps P’ 

Bartek gazed at him with open mouth. 

“ Why, that’s true enough.” 

“ The Austrians are Germans, — anyhow,” 
pleaded Woitek, “and yet our people has 
been at war with them, have n’t they ? Old 
Swierszez often spoke of the battles in which 
he fought, and told how Steinmetz called to 
his men: “Forward, boys, forward against 
the Germans!” The trouble is that the 
Frenchmen will give us harder work.” 

“ Wm they ? ” 


22 


THE FATE OF A 80LDIER 


“The Frenchmen never lost a battle. 
When these fellows catch hold of you, there 
is a mighty poor chance of escaping from 
them. Every one of them matches two or 
three men of our size, and they carry as long 
beards as any Jew. A great many of them 
are as black as devils, and when you meet 
such a fellow you had better say the Lord’s 
Prayer straightaway.” 

“ But why do we go against them, then ? ” 
asked Bartek in despair. 

This philosophical remark may have been 
less foolish than it appeared to Woitek who, 
presumably influenced by official inspiration, 
made haste to reply: 

“ Well, to say the truth. I’d rather not do 
it. But then, if we don’t go, they’ll come on 
their own account. There is nothing to say 
about that; you’ve read the proclamation. 
It is true that they are awfuUy mad at our 
farmers, and people say they want all our 
land because they are anxious to smuggle 


THE FATE OE A SOLDIER 23 

brandy from our kingdom into their own 
country. But this the government won’t 
permit, and so the war has broken out. 
See?” 

“Why should I not understand that?” 
said Bartek, somewhat reassured. 

Woitek continued : 

“They run after our woman-folks like 
mice after fried bacon.” 

“ Why, in that case they won’t spare even 
Magda.” 

“They don’t even spare old women.” 

“Oh, no — no,” exclaimed Bartek in a 
tone indicating that he might continue: “ If 
such is the case, I shall be ready to fight.” 

He saw it all clearly now; this condition 
of affairs was too bad. They might have 
smuggled some brandy into their country; 
such affairs did not concern him. But with 
Magda the case was quite different. Now 
Bartek commenced viewing the case from 
the standpoint of his individual interests. 


24 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


and felt comparatively safe at the idea of 
such an array of soldier and cannon setting 
out for the protection of his Magda, threat- 
ened, as she was, by French love-making. 
He involuntarily clinched his hands, and the 
fear of the Frenchmen filled his heart with 
hatred. True, there was nothing else to do 
but fight them. The glare in the sky had in 
the meantime faded out, and twilight set in. 
In a little while night is coming on; the 
coach rolls heavily along the uneven rails. 
To the right and left are helmets and bay- 
onets nodding and swaying in time to the 
movements of the train. 

An hour passed, and another. From the 
engine thousands of glowing sparks, golden- 
red bands and fiery worms are spurted forth 
through the dark. Like sparks in the air 
did Bartek’s thoughts of the war, of Pog- 
nembin, of the Frenchmen and Germans 
circle about his head. It seemed as though 
he were unable to move from his seat on the 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


25 


bench. At length he fell asleep, — a sickly 
slumber haunted by dreams and visions. At 
first he thought his own dog and that of 
Woitek were fighting. He reaches for his 
stick and bids them separate, when another 
vision reveals itself. Magda has seated her- 
self side by side by a Frenchman who is as 
black as coal. Other Frenchmen are making 
game of Bartek, point at him, open their 
mouths and grin. The sound of the rattling 
engine strikes his ears; Bartek seems to 
hear the Frenchmen’s cries: Magda! Magda! 
Magda! — Magda! He roars out: ‘‘Be quiet, 
you infamous rascals, you!” But they are 
persistent and continue: “ Magda! Magda! ” 
Dogs bark, and the whole village of Pog- 
nembin calls to him: “Keep hold of the 
women ! ” Then they gag him; but he bounds 
to his feet, lays about himself, breaks the 
cords and seizes his Frenchman by the neck. 

Then, suddenly 

Suddenly a sensation of violent pain seizes 


26 the fate of a soldier 

him, — pain suggestive of a hard blow. Bar- 
tek wakes and jumps to his feet. Every one 
else is awakened and inquires what has 
happened. It is this confounded Bartek 
who has, in his sleep, grasped the beard of 
the Korporal. Now he stands there, straight 
as a rush, two fingers touching his cap, 
while the officer is rushing to and from roar- 
ing in furor : 

‘‘ Slavonic idiot, as you are! FU bo blamed 
if I don’t strike your old head until the teeth 
shall dance out of your mouth by sections.” 

Almost hoarse with fury the officer con- 
tinues abusing Bartek who remains immov- 
able, with two fingers touching the cap. 
The other privates bite their hps to avoid 
smiling, still the last words from the officer 
does not fail to impress them with fear. — 

Slavonic beast; beast from Podolia! At 
length quiet reigned once more, and Bartek 
took his seat. His cheeks burned, and the 


THE FATE OF A 80LDIER 


27 


locomotive continued its mocking ‘‘Magda, 
Magda, Magda.” 

His heart was heavy, — so heavy. 


28 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


CHAPTER III. 

A pale, straggling light illuminates the 
physiognomies of the soldiers who had fallen 
asleep tired with the hardships of the day. 
Some rest with their heads bent downward, 
others face the dawn that rises in the east 
and sheds its rosy red glory upon the world. 
The air is fresh and clear when the men 
awake. Through the briUiant morning haze 
an unknown landscape is unveiled before 
them. They are surprised: Where — where 
is Pognembin ? The appearance of the land- 
scape is strangely changed. Woody heights 
enclose them from all sides, and tiled houses 
with black window-posts and white walls — 
houses as fine as small castles and over- 
grown with vines — peep forth from the 
valleys. Here churches with tall, pointed 
steeples, their factory-chimneys with plum- 


THE FATE OF A 80LDIEH 


29 


ages of reddish clouds of smoke! But the 
view is narrow, the wide plains and the 
corn-fields are wanting. Instead, the popu- 
lation seems crowded together in small 
spaces, in towns and villages. Without stop- 
ping the train is rushing past a great number 
of small stations. Little by little the sun 
ascends from behind the mountains; in the 
coach one of the boys begins to say aloud 
his morning prayers. Others foUow his ex- 
ample, and the first rays of the sun meet a 
line of devout, earnest young faces. 

When at length the train stops it is sur- 
rounded by large crowds of eager patriots. 
There are news from the battle-fields: Vic- 
tory, victory! The telegraph has clicked the 
news from one end of the country to the 
other. All had been expecting defeat; now 
they have been awakened by good news, 
and their joy is complete. The population 
of the little town half dressed and exultant, 
leaves houses and beds and hastens to the 


80 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


station. Flags are fluttering from roofs and 
gables, and the patriots wave their handker- 
chiefs. BieVy tobacco and cigars are brought 
down to the coaches. Enthusiasm runs high. 
Out over a sea of glowing, glad faces rushes 
like a tempest the solemn strain of Die 
Wacht am Rhein. Some burst into tears, 
others throw their arms around each other. 

Our Fritz ” has routed the enemy, cannon 
and banners are taken. Full of noble en- 
thusiasm are the burghers distributing 
among the soldiers all they possess, and the 
men express their gratitude by singing. 
The coaches ring with the powerful voices 
while the multitude is listening, quiet and 
spell-bound, — for the words are unintel- 
ligible : 

Our Bartosz, our Bartosz, 
our courage is wakened, 
from sorrow and danger 
God will us deliver. 

F danders, Polanders ! — repeats the mul- 
titude as it surrounds the coaches and ad- 


THE FATE OF A 80LDIER 


31 


mires the physique of the men. The common 
feeling of safety and courage is strengthened 
by tales of the irresistible bravery of those 
Slavonic regiments. 

Bartek’s swollen cheeks, his yellow mous- 
tache, his staring eyes and powerful frame 
make him appear quite formidable. What 
a defender of the Germans I Such a man is 
bound to make havoc among the French- 
men? Bartek smiles contentedly; he, too, is 
pleased with the idea of the Frenchmen hav- 
ing lost the battle. They cannot now reach 
Pognembin, deprive him of his land and run 
away with Magda. He smiles, but as his 
face is extremely sore, a grimace is the result 
of his efforts. Truly, he looks terrifying. 
By way of retaliation his appetite equals, 
however, that of a Homeric hero. Sausage 
in vast amounts and large cans of beer dis- 
appear in the bottomless gorge of his mouth. 
Sombody gives him cigars and money, and 
he accepts it all 


32 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


He turns to Woitek. ‘‘These Germans 
are very kind,” says he. “ There you see, 
they have routed the Frenchmen.” 

But the sceptical Woitek cannot help 
throwing a shadow into his joy. He proph- 
esies, in the manner of Cassandra: “The 
Frenchmen will always allow themselves to 
be beaten, in order to fool their enemies. 
But afterwards they will fight at a furious 
rate.” 

Woitek is not aware of the fact that whole 
Europe shares his opinion, nor does he think 
that whole Europe, himself included, is en- 
tirely mistaken. 

They resume their journey. As far as the 
view extends have the houses been decorated 
with fiags. The train stops at every station, 
where it is detained by long lines of coaches. 
All provinces in the country contribute sol- 
diers who hasten to join their victorious 
comrades. The coaches are decorated with 
green garlands. Ulans place their boquets 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


33 


on the lance-heads; the majority of the Ulan 
regiments consists of Polanders. Once in a 
while the men will talk to one another : 

“ How are you, comrades % I wonder where 
it pleases the Lord to bring us ? ” 

As downcast as the men were after their 
departure from Pognembin, as happy and 
enthusiastic are they now. But the first 
train that arrives with dead and wounded 
soldiers annihilates this sentiment. It met 
them at Deutz, where it stops, allowing 
those who are hastening to the battle fields, 
to pass. But the crossing of the bridge at 
Cologne takes several hours, and in the 
meantime Bartek, along with other soldiers, 
alights to take a view of the wounded com- 
rades. Some of the latter are resting in 
closed coaches, others have been huddled 
together in open cars, for want of space. 
Bartek stares at them, his courage is begin- 
ning to evaporate. 

^‘Woitek, look here,” cries he, greatly 


34 the fate of a soldier 

agitated; ‘‘look how the Frenchmen have 
mutilated them.” 

Surely, there was something worthy of 
attention. Pale, tortured faces, blackened 
by smoke and soiled with blood. Only by a 
deep groaning do they greet the general ex- 
clamations of joy. Some are cursing the 
war between the Frenchmen and the Ger- 
mans. Their dried up, soiled mouths open 
every little while to cry for water. Eyes are 
staring around, sorrowful and bewildered. 
Here and there is some one already marked 
by death, — a face either quiet, with blue 
streaks around the eyes, or distorted by 
cramps, with a vacant stare and white teeth 
visible between the parted lips. Bartek 
sees the bloody fruits of warfare the very 
first time. In a half-dazed state he stands 
among the others. Every one pushes him, 
and one of the gens d^armes strikes him with 
the butt-end in the back of his head. His 
eyes are seeking Woitek, whom he finds and 
to whom he says: 


THE FAIE OF A /SOLDIER 


35 


‘‘Gracious heaven, Woitek, what a life.” 

“Only wait until your turn comes.” 

“Jesus Maria. This is sheer murder. No, 
no! When two peasants get into a scuffle 
they are brought before the court, and pun- 
ished. Yes, they receive a punishment, 
but .” 

“Well, yes. But here no one is counted 
of any value, you see, unless he kills a great 
many of his enemies. Why, are you so 
foolish to think that we are going to shoot 
at a target, or fire blank, as we did at the 
manoeuvres? Don’t you know we shall 
level our rifles at live men ? ” 

He was evidently quite familiar with the 
difference between theory and practice. Bar- 
tek, himself, had taken part m manoeuvers 
and reviews; he was aware that in war it is 
all-important to hill ; but the sight of the 
wounded soldiers and the misery of the vic- 
tims made him feel so ill that he was almost 
ready to give it all up. His fear of the 


36 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


Frenchmen returned more strongly than 
ever, and was not alleviated until the train 
had passed Deutz and halted at Cologne. 
He happened to see some prisoners in the 
Central Eailroad Station. They had been 
surrounded by a crowd of guards and citi- 
zens who viewed them somewhat haughtily, 
but without malice. Bartek broke through 
the crowd, elbowed himself to the front and 
glanced into the coach, surprised and star- 
tled. 

A number of French infantry soldiers with 
faded mantles had been huddled together in 
a coach. The small, dirty and neglected 
figures were stowed together like herrings, 
crowding the narrow space almost to suffo- 
cation. Some stretched out their hands and 
accepted whatever the guards permitted 
them to receive from the spectators. Bartek’s 
idea of Frenchmen was, thanks to Woitek’s 
explanations, decidedly incongruous to the 
spectacle before him. His courage and en- 


TEE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


37 


thusiasm returned, and he glanced around 
to see if Woitek might be somewhere in the 
neighborhood. Woitek was standing next 
to him. 

What did you mean by telling me such 
stories of the Frenchmen ! ” asked Bartek. 
“Why, they look wretchedly. I’d under- 
take to seize such a fellow and use him as a 
club against the others.” 

“ I suppose they are tired,” ventures Woi- 
tek who cannot, himself, hide his disappoint- 
ment. 

“ What language do the speak ? ” 

“Why, — well, it isn’t Slavonic.” 

Bartek, feeling quite reassured, follows 
the line of the cars. 

“Miserable wretches — ,” says he, as a 
result of his mustering. 

Some of the next coaches are serving, 
however, as provisional prisons for zouaves. 
As the latter were placed in closed coaches 
their size and stature could not be closely 


38 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


observed. Still, the windows permitted a 
view of the old soldiers with their long 
beards, their warlike, earnest-looking faces 
and their threatening, flashing eyes. 

‘‘ These are worse,” said Bartek to him- 
self eying the man suspiciously, and some- 
what apprehensive of their being within 
hearing distance. 

But you have never seen those who have 
not been taken prisoners,” observed Woitek. 

Gracious — 

‘‘ Some time you will see them, though.” 

Turning from the zouaves they proceeded 
to inspect the next coach. Bartek bent for- 
ward — and recoiled several steps. 

Woitek,— help Woitek.” 

Through the open window they saw the 
dark features of a Turco. His face was 
almost black, and he had evidently been 
wounded, — at least this was indicated by 
his distorted features and rolling eyes. 

What is it ? ” inquired Woitek. 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER %% 

It is the Evil One, it is no soldier. Oh, 
God have mercy upon me.” 

“Look,” suggested Woitek, “look there. 
Do you see his teeth % ” 

“The deuce take him; I don’t want to 
look.” 

After a short pause Bartek said anew: 

“Woitek.” 

“ What ? ” 

“If you were to make the sign of the 
cross over such a fellow, woudn’t that 
help \ ” 

“Heathens don’t understand our sacred 
faith.” 

There was issued an order to enter the 
cars, and few minutes hence the train pro- 
ceeded on its way. When it became dark the 
rolhng eyes of the wounded Turcos haunted 
Bartek’s memory. From the effects of these 
visions one was hardly able to divine what 
glorious deeds would be carried out by the 
Pognembin warrior. 


40 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


CHAPTER IV. 

At the beginning of his participation of 
the decisive battle of Gravelotte Baxtek was 
strongly tempted to beheve that during the 
battle it is the duty of a soldier to remain 
perfectly idle. The reason was that his regi- 
ment received orders to take up its position 
on the slope of a hill covered with grape 
vines. There was cannon-roaring far away, 
and cavalry rushed from one place to an- 
other, until the soil quivered beneath the 
hoofs of the horses. The Ulan banner and 
the swords of the cuirassiers flashed in the 
sunshina Bomb shells soared through the 
air above the hill, leaving small, white 
clouds behind them. The air was flUed with 
smoke which effaced the horizon. It looked 
as though the battle was, like a tempest, 
rushing to and fro. But this lasted only a 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 41 

short while. Then a singular stir announced 
itself about Bartek^s division. Other regi- 
ments were placed around the one already- 
facing the hill, and in the spaces between 
them batteries drove up at a furious rate. 
They were hauled around as rapidly as pos- 
sible, with its front toward the hill, and the 
whole valley behind them was rapidly filled 
with soldiers. Words of command are passed 
everywhere, while adjutants hasten from 
one place to another. The soldiers whisper 
to one another: ‘‘Soon it will be our turn.” 
“Yes, quite hkely,” rephes somebody. Now 
the uncertain, perhaps even death, is ap- 
proaching. In the smoke that covers the 
hill something seeths and bubbles terribly. 
Boom of cannon and rattling of rifle shoot- 
ing are approaching. Far away there is a 
continuous crash of Gatling guns, which 
produce a perfect rain of bullets over the 
region commanded by them. Suddenly the 
neighboring batteries begin their play, roar- 


42 


THE FATE OF A 80LDIER 


ing forth until earth and sky are trembling 
with the echo. A hissing is heard in front of 
Bartek’s regiment, and the soldiers gaze 
eagerly towards it. Something soars through 
the air toward the ranks, — something not 
unhke a bright rose, or a cloud, but within 
this cloud there is a whizzing grinning, 
buzzing and howling noise. The men cry 
out: “A shell!” Like a tempest the war- 
bird approaches, descends and explodes. The 
men’s ears almost seem to burst with the 
crash, — a crash suggesting a collapse of the 
earth’s crust, or the rush of a cyclone. Dis- 
turbance reigns in the lines next to the bat- 
teries, but the cries are deafened by a prompt 
command: Close the ranks!” Bartek is 

standing in the front line, clutching his rifle, 
his nose pointing straight ahead, his beard 
covered by the stock in order to prevent 
the clattering of the teeth. Moving as well 
as shooting are forbidden; one must stand 
still and wait. Then, another shell descends, 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


43 


and another, and still another; the wind 
sweeps away the smoke from the top of 
the hill. The Frenchmen have already dis- 
lodged the Prussian batteries from their 
position, and placed their own guns in- 
stead; presently they emit fire and death 
over the valley. Every now and then long 
white bands of smoke shoot forth from 
the dense brush of vines. French infan- 
try protected by the guns descends the hill 
and commence musketry. The men have 
already reached the middle of the slope; 
they are plainly visible, as the wind drives 
away the smoke. Do poppies grow along 
that slope ? No, it is the red caps of the in- 
fantry. Suddenly they disappear beneath 
the foliage of the vines, — disappear so com- 
pletely that only here and there a tricolor is 
noticeable. The musketry comes rapidly, 
violently and irregularly, breaking out at 
different points simultaneously. Above the 
firing of the rifies the roar of bomb shells 


44 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


comes rolling incessantly, and the roaring 
projectiles pass one another high up in the 
air. A cry is heard from the hill, and the 
Germans greet it with their Hurra. The 
batteries down on the plain are thundering 
incessantly with continuous firing; but the 
Slavonic regiment remains immovable. 

Yet the firing draws nearer and nearer. 
Far away the bullets keep buzzing hke flies 
or bumble-bees, near by they are hissing and 
whistling, and their number seems to in- 
crease constantly, for very soon they begin to 
graze foreheads, noses, ears and arms, and 
arrive by thousands, even by millions. It 
seems remarkable that any one can remain 
on his feet after such volleys. Suddenly a 
cry is raised behind Bartek: ‘‘ Oh, Jesus ! ” — 
followed by a sharp: ‘‘Close — ranks!” — 
again death-cries, followed by the officers’ 
prompt command. The ranks are closing 
narrowly upon one another; buUets are 
whisthng around them in numbers steadily 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


45 


increasing. The dead and wounded are 
pulled forth by the legs. 

“Are you scared ? ” inquires Woitek. 

“Isn’t this enough to scare one ?” returns 
Bartek, with clattering teeth. 

In spite of their fright Bartek and Woitek 
remain in their places; it never occurs to 
them that they might cut away and run for 
their lives. They have been ordered to stand 
still, so they do, and that is all. Bartek lies. 
Discipline commands his fantasy, and the 
latter does not present his position in the 
most terrible light. StiU, he thinks there 
are chances of his being killed. He com- 
municates this idea to Woitek. 

“ It doesn’t matter much if such a fool is 
killed,” returns Woitek indignantly. 

The shooting continues; whole lines fall 
before his eyes. Nobody thinks of bringing 
away the dead and wounded. The move- 
ments of the tricolor among the foliage in- 
dicate that the infantry is steadily approach- 


46 


TEE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


ing. There is a perfect rain of grape-shots, 
resulting in the fall of large numbers of 
men. The remaining ones are becoming 
desperate, and little by little a murmur of 
impatience, even of fury, passes along the 
lines. One of the men tears off his cap and 
flings it upon the ground exclaiming in a 
tone of suppressed misery: man dies but 

once; for Heaven’s sake, let it be done! ” 
Hearing these words Bartek suddenly 
feels greatly relieved; his fear leaves him 
almost at once. If one is doomed to die, 
why, let it be done I It is — it cannot be of 
great consequence when death comes. This 
is a specimen of peasant’s philosophy, still it 
is better than a good many other systems, 
and evokes, at least, a feeling of confidence 
and repose. Bartek knew that sometime he 
should die, of course, but inasmuch as the 
battle threatened to result in a defeat on his 
side, it was convenient to him to feel quite 
certain, and he did. 


TEE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


47 


One whole regiment was almost blotted 
out of existence without firing a single shot. 
Large crowds of other regiments that have 
been routed and scattered are rushing past; 
only the men from Pognembin, Upper and 
Lower Krzy wda and Mizerow remain in line, 
thanks to the Prussian discipline. But the 
lines are no more as firm as before; the men 
are becoming more and more desperate. 
Some one is murmuring: ‘‘We have merely 
been drawn to the shambles.” 

“Keep still, Slavonic beast,” cries one of 
the officers. 

“ None of us will escape alive.” 

“Don’t shield yourself behind my back,” 
exclaims somebody. 

“Shut !” 

Suddenly a voice falls in: “ Sacred virgin, 
to your care ! ” 

Bartek joins in: “We command our- 
selves.” 

In a little while a choir of Slavonic voices 


48 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


on this battle-field is appealing to the sacred 
virgin of Czenstochowa for help and courage. 
The weak and wounded accompany the 
hymn with their exclamations: “ Oh, Maria, 
Maria I” She evidently decides to grant their 
request, for a moment later an adjutant is 
galloping towards them, and upon his arrival 
the command is given: ‘‘Charge! Hoorah, 
forward! ” The lines of bayonets are imme- 
diately lowered; the ranks expand into one 
long line that moves rapidly towards the 
slope — towards the enemy which is to be 
sought with bayonets, as he had not yet be- 
come visible. The distance of about two 
hundred yards is traversed amidst a murder- 
ous fire. Are they not killed to the last man, 
or will they not retreat ? Yes, they may die, 
but retire they never will, for Prussian disci- 
pline knows very well how to stir these Sla- 
vonic soldiers to frenzy. Amidst the thun- 
dering of cannon, the rattling of musketry, 
— amidst smoke, disturbance and moaning 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


49 


a hymn is played, deafening the noise of 
trumpets and drums, — a solemn strain as- 
cending towards the sky and which echoes 
within every heart in the regiment: 

Noch ist Polen nicht verloren. 

The soldiers become enthusiastic. With 
burning cheeks they rush forward over dead 
and dying, over horses and broken cannon. 
They fall, but amidst hopeful cries and song. 
Soon they have reached the upper slope, 
where vines are hiding them from view. But 
their cries continue, and bayonets are seen 
flashing in the air. From the top of the hill 
the shooting goes on constantly, while down 
below trumpet after trumpet is sounded. 
The French volleys are pouring forth with 
increasing rapidity and vehemence; and sud- 
denly . 

Suddenly they cease. 

Down in the valley Old Steinmetz lights 
his pipe and says: ^‘Let those fellows have 


60 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


some music. Now they are having the best 
of it.” 

Shortly afterwards one of the fluttering 
tricolors is lifted up, brandished in the air, 
and thereupon disappears. 

They are not to be trifled with,” exclaims 
Steinmetz. 

The trumpets repeat the hymn, when the 
second Poznan regiment hastens to the re- 
lief of the Pognembin men. 

Within the dense shrubbery on the hill a 
terrible bayonet flght takes place. 

But how can I worthily sing the praise of 
Bartek, my hero, and hand down to poster- 
ity a true account of his bravery ? In Bar- 
tek’s case, fear, impatience and desperation 
had united into a feeling of supreme rage. 
No sooner was the music heard than his very 
nerves became strained hke bands of steel. 
He forgot the world about him, — he forgot 
that he could die but once, and hastened on- 
ward bhndly following his comrades. Arriv- 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


51 


ing at the slope he stumbled and fell again 
and again, struck his nose against the ground, 
but arose, soiled with mud and bespattered 
with blood, and pressed forward in breath- 
less haste. He peered through the brush, 
eager to discover some Frenchman on whom 
he might cool his frenzy. Truly, there were 
three men guarding the standard. Bartek 
made for them; at this moment he was ready 
to attack even Lucifer. 

The men were Turcos. They met his at- 
tack promptly and actively. Two bayo- 
nets are touching his breast, but he grasps 
the butt of his rifle and knocks down. There 
is a terrible yell, a moaning, and two dark 
bodies stagger and fall, quivering and trem- 
bling, to the ground. 

A moment later Bartek is confronted with 
a dozen of men who rush forward to the as- 
sistance of the standard-bearer. He loses no 
time in counting their number, but plunges 
forward, while they Are at him; — a flash, a 


52 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


roar, and from the cloud of smoke envelop- 
ing him Bartek shouts hoarsely: Your lead 
is wasted.” 

His rifle again describes a curve in the air, 
and again the result is death and destruction. 
The Turcos recede at the sight of this mad- 
looking giant, and whether Bartek^s imag- 
ination is playing a trick on him, or the 
Turcos are really saying something in Ara- 
bian, certain it is that to Bartek their thick 
lips appear to frame the words: Magda, 
Magda! 

‘‘Oh, you are the fellows who want 
Magda,” yelled Bartek, striding forward to 
meet them. Fortunately, at this moment 
his comrades come to his assistance. Among 
the dense vines a desperate fight, man to 
man, ensued. Bartek raged like a tempest. 
He, blackened by smoke, soiled with blood, 
more like an animal than a human being, 
felled one man by every stroke, broke the 
guns and crushed every hostile skuP within 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


63 


reach. His hands worked with the fatal 
swiftness and promptitude of a machine, 
dealing death in every direction. Eeaching 
the standard-bearer he seized him by the 
throat with his sinewy fingers. The soldier’s 
eyes started out of their hollows, his face 
swelled, and his hands were loosened from 
the staff. HefeU. 

‘‘ Hoorah! ” cried Bartek, lifting the stand- 
ard and brandishing it above his head. 

This movement of the tricolor was watched 
by Steinmetz down below. It remained in 
view but a second, however, as Bartek 
brought it down upon a head that carried a 
gold-laced cap. 

In the meantime, his comrades had ad- 
vanced to the top of the hill, so Bartek re- 
mained alone for a brief moment. He tore 
the banner from the staff, folded it together 
and thrust it under his coat. Then, seizing 
the staff he started for the top of the hill, 
where a battery had remained inactive for 


54 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


some time. It was defended, however, by a 
number of howling Turcos, supported by a 
division of zouaves. The latter immediately 
opened a violent fire against the Slavonians. 

Hoorah! ” roared Bartek who, with his 
comrades, had reached the battery and at 
once became engaged in a hand-to-hand fight 
with the French soldiers. Just then the 
second Poznan regiment arrived to the assist- 
ance of the first one. Now the staff of the 
standard became converted, in Bartek’s 
hands, into a fearful flail. Every stroke pro- 
duced a breach in the Frenchmen’s tight 
ranks, and both the zouaves and the Turcos 
were seized by panic. Wherever Bartek 
fought they fled. In another moment Bar- 
tek found himself the first time in his life 
riding a cannon, which he did as ably as if 
he was mounted on his own aged mare at 
Pognembin. 

Before any one had realized what hap- 
pened, Bartek was sitting on another can- 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


55 


non, and yet he had managed to fell another 
standard-bearer and to seize the banner. 

‘‘ Long live BartekI ” shouted the soldiers. 

The victory was complete. All the Gat- 
tling guns were taken, and the retreating 
infantry, which was met, on the opposite 
slope of the hill, by a fresh Prussian regi- 
ment, had surrendered. 

During the pursuit Bartek had taken yet 
another standard. 

He was worth stopping to look at when, 
joining his comrades, he marched down the 
hill, carrying on one shoulder two standards. 
What did he care about the Frenchmen? 
Woitek was walking at his side, covered 
with bruises and slashes. 

What did you mean by telling me such 
stories ? ” said Bartek. Why, the French- 
men are mere vermin; there is no marrow 
whatever in their bones. Theyv’e scratched 
both of us a little, that is all.” 

‘"But who would ever think you’d fight 


56 


TEE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


like a madman,” returned Woitek who had 
witnessed Bartek’s exploits — and began 
viewing him in quite another hght than 
before. 

And who had not witnessed Bartek’s bra- 
very ? All the privates and most of the offi- 
cers of his regiment — all regarded the big 
fellow’s gigantic frame, his long, yellow 
moustache and his round, staring eyes, with 
a feeling of awe. Oh, you con- 

founded Polander,” said the Major, — a re- 
mark that produced a broad grin in the 
soldier’s massive features. 

When the regiment halted at the bottom 
of the hill Bartek enjoyed the honor of being 
pointed out to the colonel and, by the latter, 
even to Steinmetz, himself. 

Steinmetz looked at the standards, ordered 
some one to bring them aside, and turned 
towards Bartek. The latter stands as straight 
as a rush, presenting arms, while the old 
general looks at him and nods approval. 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


67 


Finally he addresses the colonel. The word 
“officer” is distinguished quite plainly. 

“A simpleton, your excellency,” suggests 
the major. 

“We shall see ,” says his excellency, 

turns his horse around and rides up to Bar- 
tek. 

Bartek is ignorant of all that happens, — 
ignorant of the fact that something unheard 
of is in progress: A Prussian general is ad- 
dressing one of the privates. 

But the general’s task is greatly facilitated 
because of his intimacy with the Slavonic 
language. Besides, this soldier has taken 
three standards and a whole battery from 
the enemy. 

“Your home ? ” inquires the general. 

“Pognembin,” says Bartek. 

“ Your name ? ” 

“Bartek Slowik.” 

“ Menschy^^ suggests the major. 

“ Do you know why you fight the French- 
men \ ” 


58 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


do, your cellency.” 

Tell me.” 

Bartek begins to stammer: ‘^Because — 
because — Suddenly Woitek’s words are 
called to his mind, and he blabs out, as 
rapidly as possibly, in order not to swallow 
his words before they are spoken: 

Because they, too, are Germans, only 
much greater rascals than the real ones.” 

The countenance of the old general under- 
goes a change suggestive of hearty amuse- 
ment; he appears ready to burst into laugh- 
ing, but controls his feelings and turns to 
the major, saying: ‘‘You are right.” 

Bartek is yet standing there, composed 
and self-satisfied. 

“ Who won this battle ? ” inquires the gen- 
eral. 

“I did, you cellency,” replies Bartek with- 
out hesitation. 

“ Indeed you did. That is quite true, and 
here is your reward.” 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


59 


The old general removes the Iron Cross 
from his breast, leans down and fastens it to 
Bartek’s coat. His good-humoured condes- 
cension is reflected in the appearance of the 
major and the remaining offlcers. When 
the general has left the scene Bartek receives 
ten Thaler of the colonel; the major adds 
flve to the ten, and everybody smiles upon 
him asserting that he has won the battle. 
No wonder that Bartek feels considerably 
elated. 

Only Woitek is dissatisfled with him. In 
the course of the evening, when they were 
sitting together near the camp-fire, Bartek’s 
cheeks being considerably distended with 
liberal portions of Wurst, Woitek dropped 
the following remark: 

Bartek, y’re a fool, — a most confounded 
fool.” 

Why so ?” inquired Bartek, comfortably 
chewing his sausage-feed. 

‘‘SakesI How could you talk to the gen- 


60 the fate of a soldier 

eral about the Frenchmen in that man- 
ner 

‘^But you told me the very same thing.” 

‘‘Maybe I did. Still, you ought to remem- 
ber that every officer in our army is a Ger- 
man.” 

“What has that to do with my answer to 
the general ? ” 

Woitek’s voice became slightly unsteady. 

“ I’ll tell you ,” said he. “Even if they 

are Germans, we have no right to tell them 
in such an abominable manner, and .” 

“ But you speak of the Frenchmen,” inter- 
posed Bartek, “ didn’t you ? Well, so did I.” 

“That’s true enough, but .” 

Bartek again interrupted him however, 
and began explaining about offending peo- 
ple, and Germans especially. But Woitek 
was a poor listener, and Bartek finally re- 
lapsed into silence. 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


61 


CHAPTER V. 

Some time afterwards the Royal Prussian 
mail conveyed the following letter to Pog- 
nembin : 

Glory to Jesus Christ and His sacred 
Mother I My beloved Magda : How goes it 
with you ? You are resting snugly in your 
warm bed, while I am obliged to fight in this 
horrible war. We have spent some time 
near Metz, a great fortress, and had a fear- 
ful battle, where I thrashed the Frenchmen 
until both our infantry and our artillery 
wondered at me. The general once spoke to 
me and said I had won the battle, and he 
gave me a cross. All the officers respect me, 
they hardly ever slap my face. Well, then 
we marched on, and fought another battle, 
but I forget the name of the city. There, 
too, did I thrash the Frenchmen. I took one 
of their standards and lifted a fine cuirassier 
colonel off his saddle, and made him prisoner. 


62 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


When our regiments are dismissed, I am to 
write a reclamation and remain in service, 
for even if we don’t sleep as much as we 
should like to do, there is enough of eating, 
and wine is most plentiful everywhere, as 
the population possesses much wealth. 
Whenever we burn a town, or a village, 
every inhabitant is killed. We spare nobody, 
not even children or women, nor do I. We 
have set fire to a church, too, but it matters 
little, as the people is all catholics. Some of 
them were roasted, I think, on that occas- 
ion. Now we want to fight the emperor, 
himself, then the war will cease. Take good 
care of the house as well as of Frank; if you 
don’t I shall knock your head off and show 
you what kind of a man I am. May the 
Lord protect you! 

“BARTER SLOWIK.” 

Bartek had evidently been taken with the 
war and began to look at it as a profession. 
With a strong self-reliance he plunged into 
battles as though the work required of him 
was merely consisting in the old, well-known 


THE FATE OE A SOLDIER 


63 


farm-work to which he was long accus- 
tomed. After each battle his breast was 
covered anew with stars and medals, and 
although he never reached an officer’s rank 
everyone regarded him the foremost private 
of his regiment. He obeyed promptly, as 
before, and displayed fully the blind courage 
of a man who does not heed the danger. 
This courage was acquired during his first 
feelings of rage and suspense, but later he 
became rooted in the practice and the self- 
reliance of the active soldiers. Besides, his 
gigantic frame could easily endure all kinds 
of exertion, marches and fatigue. Many of 
his comrades succumbed; he, himself, was 
constantly growing wilder and developed 
into a beautiful specimen of a cruel Prussian 
soldier. He no longer satisfied himself by 
‘thrashing” the Frenchmen; he hated them. 
In addition to this, many of his other views 
were altered: He became a soldier patriot 
who blindly adored his superiors. 


64 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


His second letter to Magda contained the 
following: 

Woitek was torn to pieces, but this, you 
see, is war. Besides, he was a great liar, 
who called the Frenchmen Germans, while 
the fact is that they are Frenchmen, and 
nothing else, while we are the only Ger- 
mans.” 

Keplying to both these letters Magda 
scolded him as best she knew : 

Darling Barter : — You, whom the 
minister has united with me before God’s 
altar! May the Lord punish you as you de- 
serve! You behave like a heathen dog by 
uniting with a set of rascals and murdering 
the Catholics. You don’t know that the 
rascals are Lutheran’s, — and you, a Cath- 
olic, side with them ! No doubt you hke 
war, you vagabond, because it is your best 
pastime to drink and fight and work injury 
against others. You do not think of fast- 
ing, as long as you are free to set fire to the 
churches. May hell swaUow you up, since 
you are even boasting of such bad deeds, 


THE EATE OE A SOLDIER 


65 


and because you don’t pity even women and 
children. Fool that you are ! Remember 
what has been written in golden letters for 
the benefit of our Polish people, that from 
the beginning of the world until the last day 
God will have no patience with such rascal- 
ity, and beware, Turk, that you are, unless 
you want me to crush your skull. I enclose 
herewith five Thaler^ although many diffi- 
culties surround me, and it is difficult to 
manage the household. I embrace you, 
dearest Bartek. 

» YOUR MAGDA.” 

The moral of this epistle produced but a 
shght impression upon Bartek. ‘‘The old 
woman knows nothing about the service, 
and yet she undertakes to meddle with 
everything,” said he to himself. So he con- 
tinued in his old ways, distinguished himself 
in almost every engagement, and attracting 
the attention of men even greater than 
Steinmetz. When, ultimately, the scattered 
Poznan regiments returned to Germany, he 
wrote a petition, according to the advice of 


66 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


the officers, and remained behind. Conse- 
quently, he followed the army on its march 
against the French capital. 

His letters were crowded with expressions 
illustrating his contempt of the Frenchmen. 

In every battle they run away like rab- 
bits.” But the seige was not calculated to 
meet with his approval. At Paris he was 
obliged to remain for many days in the 
trenches, listening to the cannonade. Often 
he was required to assist in the throwing up 
of redoubts and permit the rain to soak his 
clothes through and through. Besides, he 
was longing back to his old regiment. The 
men among whom he now found himself, 
were almost exclusively Germans, and al- 
though he had learned a little of their lan- 
guage at the Pognembin factory, his position 
was difficult. As time passed he acquired a 
fairly good use of the German tongue, and 
yet such an appellative as Slavonic beast” 
was often applied to him. His medals as 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


67 


well as his terrible arms protected him some- 
what against too much molestation. After 
some battles, he won, however, the unquali- 
fied admiration of his new comrades, and 
soon every one looked at him with a true 
brotherly feehng, as he covered the regiment 
with honor. Bartek always was offended 
when some one supposed him to be a “nie- 
miec ” (a German), but in his opposition to 
the Frenchmen he viewed himself a citizen 
of Germany. 

Something happened, however, that might 
have given him a great deal of trouble, if his 
faculty of thinking had not been somewhat 
obscured. On a certain occasion a couple of 
companies, of his regiment, were called out 
against some of the French franctireurs, and 
the latter permitted themselves to be trapped. 
On this occasion Bartek did not have occas- 
ion to pursue a number of retreating red- 
caps, as the French division was composed 
of old soldiers, a remainder, probably, of 


68 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


some regiment belonging to the Foreign 
Legion. They defended themselves, though 
completely surrounded, with the utmost bra- 
very, and finally attempted to break through 
the wall of Prussian arms that suiTounded 
them on all sides. The result of their des- 
perate efforts was that a small troop escaped. 
The remainder scorned the idea of surren- 
dering, as they knew what was in store for 
prisoners of their kind. Bartek’s division 
succeeded in capturing only two of them, 
who were locked up in a wood keeper’s house 
over night to await execution by shooting 
on the following morning. Several soldiers 
were placed on guard outside the door, while 
Bartek became stationed in the room with 
orders to keep a strict watch over the pris- 
oners, who had been securely pinioned. 

One of the Frenchmen was an elderly man 
with a grey moustache. The expression of 
his face was indicative of complete indiffer- 
ence. The other bore the appearance of a 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


69 


young man in the twenties, his beardless 
face and fresh lips were far from giving him 
a soldierly aspect, but lent rather a girlish 
air to his countenance. 

That is the end of it,” said the younger 
one after a lengthy pausa ‘‘A bullet through 
the brains, and one disappears from the 
scene.” 

Bartek started; his rifle clinched in his 
hands, for the young man spoke the Polish 
language. 

‘‘It is all the same to me,” replied the 
elder one in a sullen tone. “God knows I 
don’t care. I have been tired of it all long 
ago.” 

Bartek’s heart was beating fast under the 
Prussian uniform. 

“ Look here,” continued the elder man. 
“Nothing can be done, — nothing. If you 
are afraid, you had better think of some- 
thing else, or lie down and sleep. This is a 
miserable life. So help me God. I don’t — I 
don’t care.” 


70 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


I feel sorry for my mother replied 

his comrade, in an undertone. 

To hide his emotion, or for the purpose of 
deceiving himself he began whistling. Sud- 
denly he stopped, however, and cried in 
despair : 

‘^Oh, heavens! I have not even said her 
good-bye.” 

Did you run away from home ? ” 

‘‘ I did. My idea was this : No doubt they 
will conquer the Germans; that may be of 
some benefit to those at Poznan.” 

That, too, was my idea, but now .” 

The old man waved his hand and added 
some words that were drowned in the howl- 
ing of the wind outside. 

The night was cool, and through the dark, 
moist air came the rain drizzling down in tor- 
rents. The room was as dusky as a shroud; 
the howling of the wind through the old 
fire-place and the broken windows added to 
the discomfort and gloom of the place. A 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 

lamp had been put up on a shelf above the 
window, safe against wind and wet. Bartek 
had seated himself in a dark corner of the 
room, where his countenance was not visible. 

Probably it was best for the prisoners not 
to see his face, as he was subject of the most 
conflicting emotions. At first he became 
highly astonished and stared at the men, 
straining his hearing to catch their words. 
They had entered the French army for the 
purpose of assisting the Polish cause, while 
he, himself, was ‘‘thrashing” the French- 
men for Poland’s sake. At the dawn of day 
these two men would be shot, and why ? 
What was he, poor fellow, to think of such 
a state of affairs ? 

Could he speak to them and tell them he 
was one of their kind, and that he pitied 
them with all his heart ? Something arose 
within him. What could he say to them 
unless he stepped in and helped them to es- 
cape ? If he did, he, too, would be shot 


72 


TEE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


without mercy. A strange feeling of pity 
welled forth from his heart, arose in his 
throat and threatened to choke the big sol- 
dier who boasted of pitying neither women 
nor helpless children. 

The room was quiet, and yet Bartek heard 
a voice crying aloud amidst the rustling of 
the tall fir trees outside in the dark : ‘‘ Bar- 
tek, save your brethren.” The voice became 
more and more urgent; the wind sweeps 
through the broken windows into the dimly 
lighted room, carrying with it the old, well- 
known sound of creaking branches and rust- 
ling foliage — there were such large firs in 
Pognembin, too, — but above it all the voice 
cries out: Bartek, save your brethren.” 

But what can he do ? 

Can he join them on their escape through 
the woods ? Yes, what else! 

His very nature, — all that Prussian disci- 
pline had inoculated into his primitive self, — 
recoils from this suggestion. No, no! Before 


THE FATE OP A SOLDIER 


73 


such a thought a soldier must cross himself 
in the name of the Father and the Son and 
the Holy Ghost. Would he> a soldier, — 
would he undertake deserting in the com- 
pany of prisoners ? Never. 

The howling of the wind becomes more 
and more pitiful, and the rustling deep in 
the forest grows deeper and stronger. 

Suddenly the elder prisoner exclaims : 
‘‘The same wind is blowing by us — in the 
faU .” 

“Leave me alone,” interrupts his compan- 
ion, in a choking voice. After a short pause 
he adds : “By us, — at home. Oh, Jesus, 
our Lord.” 

Silence again prevails in the room. 

Bartek feels chilled. He does not realize 
what feelings are strugghng within him. 
Although he had never stolen anything from 
any one, an inner voice attacked him, and 
he felt as uneasy as a thief who is afraid of 
being pursued. No danger is threatening 


74 


TEE FATE OF A 80LDIER 


him, and yet he is terribly frightened. His 
rifle seems to grow heavier and heavier, 
while the choking sensation threatened to 
develop into a paroxysm of weeping, but 
such tears would be shed for the sake of 
neither his beloved Magda nor his dear Pog- 
nembin, but the young prisoner. 

From time to time he appears to doze, but 
the roaring of the wind will always rouse 
him. The rush of the tempest seems 
strangely interwoven with moaning and 
wild cries. 

Suddenly a sensation of horror creeps over 
him. Somewhere outside, from the dark 
moist depths of the forest a voice is chant- 
ing, in a feeble, mournful tone : ‘‘At home 
— at home — home .” 

He arose, knocking the but-end of the rifle 
against the floor in order to be thoroughly 
awakened. His consciousness returns, and 
he glances around. The prisoners are rest- 
ing in a corner of the room; the rambling 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


75 


glare from the lamp; the sound of the wind: 
Everything is appearing as it was before. 

The light falls across the softly outlined, 
girhsh face of the young prisoner, whose 
eyes are closed. His head is resting on a 
wisp of straw. The childish features seem 
already stiffened in death. 

Bartek did not remember having ever suf- 
fered such intense heart-ache. A strong 
f eehng of pity and sympathy made his throat 
swell more strongly than before and started 
the tears to his eyes. 

The old franctireur turns toward his com- 
rade. 

‘‘Grood-night, Wladek.” 

Silence. An hour passes, and Bartek be- 
comes more and more oppressed. The wind 
soars and chants like the organ in the old 
Pognembin church. Both prisoners are rest- 
ing quietly. At length the younger one lifts 
his head and opens his eyes. 

Karl.” 


76 


TEE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


“What is it?” 

“ Were you asleep ? ” 

“No.” 

“It is of no use to deny it: I am terribly 
afraid. Do whatever you please, but I must 
pray.” 

“Just pray. Don’t mind me.” 

“Our Father in Heaven, hal- 

lowed be thy name, — thy kingdom come 

>3 

His voice was broken by violent sobbing. 

“ Thy — will — be — done.” 

Something cries aloud within Bartek’s 
breast. In the name of Jesus Christ, what 
is it ? 

He can stand it no longer. In another mo- 
ment he will say: “ Lord, here I am.” Then, 
out through the window and off through 
the woods! . 

Measured, regular steps sound and resound 
in the hall. The patrol is making its round. 
He is relieved . 


TBE FAm OF A SOLDIEF 


77 


The following days brought fresh battles, 
more marches and more activity. Our hero 
luckily regained his equanimity. All that 
remained of the feelings awakened during 
that night was conscientiously drowned in 
strong beverages. He fought more fiercely 
than ever. Victory followed his arms. 


78 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


CHAPTEE VI. 

Months passed, and spring was in prog- 
ress. In Pognembin the cherry trees were 
already beginning to bloom; fresh, green 
foliage came out everywhere. The winter’s 
grain came up in the fields and began to 
promise well for the future harvest. Amidst 
these surroundings Magda was one day sit- 
ting outside her hut peeling a poor quality 
of potatoes for her dinner. The tubers had 
already started to germinate and seemed 
better fitted for animal feed than for a work- 
ing woman’s meal. But the new year’s crop 
was not yet ripe, and, besides, there was a 
great deal of want and misery at Pognem- 
bin. Privation and trouble were plainly 
written on the woman’s dark and distressed 
countenance. For the purpose, possibly, of 
getting rid of these unpleasant feelings the 


THE FATE OF A 80LBIER 


79 


woman raised her feeble, strained voice and 
began to sing an old lay: 

Jasin went forth to fight for his land, — oh, yes, 

And sometimes he thinks of me,— oh, yes. 

For I am his wife, his dear little friend, 

his sweet little wife, his dearest friend. 

The sparrows were merrily chirping in the 
cherry trees above her. She looked at the 
dog that stood gasping in the open door; the 
potato-peeling progressed but slowly, as she 
would sometimes close her eyes and doze 
away in the sunshine, sometimes scan the 
road with a vacant stare. The view of the 
road extended as far as the railroad station, 
and the Lord provided that on this occasion 
she would not be disappointed. Some one 
was approaching the house from far away, 
and she tried to distinguish the figure by 
shading her eyes; but the glare blinded her. 
The dog became roused, however, hfted his 
head, barked, and began wagging his tail 
and running to and fro between the house 


80 


TlSE FATE OF A 80LEIEB 


and the garden hedge. Finally it jumped 
the hcsdge and ran towards a man who came 
walking towards the gate. Magda looked 
up, pale and excited. 

Might Bartek be there ? 

There was no doubt of his identity. She 
sprang to her feet, upsetting the potato- 
trough, and ran towards the gate. The dog 
jumped around the wanderer with all signs 
of boundless joy. 

Magda stopped and cried: ‘‘Bartek, Bar- 
tek.” 

“Here I am, here I am,” answered he, 
striding forward to meet her. 

He opened the gate, rushed into the gar- 
den and flung his arms around her. 

The woman returned his embrace and be- 
gan talking hurriedly : 

“ I sometimes thought you might not at 
all return home. Oh, dear, I was afraid they 
had killed you. How did you fare, my dear 
husband. Come let me look at you. What 


TEE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


81 


rascals, why, they have spoiled your looks. 
Gracious heaven, he is home again, he is 
here once more.’’ 

She stopped and drew herself back, then 
looked him full in the face and continued : 

‘‘Yes he has returned home. Heaven be 
praised. Walk in, walk in and rest yourself. 
Frank is in school. The rascals of Germans 
trouble the children a great deal; still, the 
httle fellow is doing well. He has got youi" 
eyes, — the very same. Well, I’m glad you 
are home again, for things are getting quite 
bad. The liouse is suffering from winds and 
weather; when it rains the barn-floor be- 
comes soaking wet, and what can we do, for 
there’s a hole in the roof! Bartek, Bartek, to 
think you are back again. What trouble the 
harvest has given me, though. Germie- 
nicki, our neighbor, helped me a great deal. 
But how are you doing ? Oh, how glad I am ! 
God has preserved you. Walk in, walk in. It 
almost seems as though you were some one 
else. 


82 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


‘^But what is the matter ? Great heavens, 
what is that 

She had discovered a scar on his face, — 
a reddish line extending from the left temple 
across his right cheek to the beard that cov- 
ered the lower part of his face. 

“ Nothing,” declared Bartek. “ Some cuir- 
assier tried to pat my cheek; but instead I 
patted him, you know. They took me to 
the hospital.” 

“ Gracious heaven did they 1 ” 

“Never mind.” 

“ Why, you look as thin as death.” 

Ruhig,^^ said Bartek. 

He had become thin enough, however; the 
sun had burned him, and his clothes were 
mere rags. A true conqueror! His walking 
was somewhat unsteady. 

“What, are you drunk?” 

“ No, but I’m pretty weak.” 

Weak he was, to be sure, and emaciated; 
but he was drunk, too. The poor man might 


THE FATE OF A 80LDIER 


83 


have been able to stand, in his present con- 
dition, a small quantity of strong drink; at 
the railroad station he had assimilated, how- 
ever, a whole pint of brandy. Still, his 
bearing was that of a conqueror, and his 
countenance indicated the warmest enthus- 
iasm. 

said he. ‘‘The war is ended, 
and I won the battles. I am the master 
here, d’ye understand! Look at these,” — he 
pointed to his stars and medals. “Do you 
know, now, who I am, — do you know me ? ” 
BechtSy links! HeUy Stroh ! Hen, — halt! 

The last word was thundered forth with 
such a force that the woman started and re- 
treated a few steps. 

“ Are you crazy ? ” 

“ What is the matter with you, Magda ? 
Do you know the French language, d’ye ? 
Musiu, musiu ! — Do you know what that 
means : Do you know ? I am musiu.^^ 

“ What in all the world is the matter with 
you I ” 


84 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


It does not concern you. Was? Done 
diner ^ you know.” 

Magda’s forehead indicated the approach 
of a storm. 

‘What piddle-paddle are you talking there? 
Did you throw your Polish language over- 
board? What, you old thief? Did ? 

Oh, heaven, what have they done to you ? ” 

“Give me something to eat.” 

“Walk in. Off with you.” 

Every word of command produced an irre- 
sistable expression upon Bartek. On hear- 
ing the words: Off with you, he stood bolt 
upright, with the arms close to the hips, 
turned halfway around and marched off in 
the direction of the house. In the doorway 
he stopped and looked back at Magda with a 
curious expression in his face. 

“ Walk in. March ! ” 

He obeyed, but stumbled and fell. 

The brandy was beginning to take effect. 
He commenced singing and glanced around, 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 85 

trying to discover Franck to whom he said 
good morning, although the boy was not at 
all there. Then, bursting into a fit of laugh- 
ing, he made one long step and two small 
ones, cried Hoorah, and threw himself on 
the couch. Towards evening he awoke to 
find himself sober and rested; afterwards he 
begged a few Pfenninge of Magda, greeted 
Franck and set out on his triumphal pro- 
cession to the inn. The rumour of his won- 
derful deeds had preceeded him, as a number 
of soldiers had told, on their return home, of 
his bravery in the battles of Gravelotte and 
Sedan. When it was told that the con- 
queror had returned and might be seen at 
the inn, all his former comrades hastened 
over to bid him welcome. 

Bartek is seated at the table, but nobody 
recognized his former habits and quiet man- 
ners in the behaviour of the arrogant, loud- 
speaking braggart who strikes the table, 
looks around himself in defiance and chuck- 
les like a turkey. 


86 


THB FATE OF A SOLDIER 


‘^Do you recollect, comrades, how I 
thrashed the Frenchmen, and what Stein- 
metz said to me ? ” 

‘‘Yes, yes, we remember it all.” 

“Everybody tried to make us afraid of 
the Frenchmen, and yet they were mere 
cowards, — cowards, I say. Was f They de- 
vour salad like rabbits, and they run away 
like rabbits, too. They never drink beer, 
but wine, — don’t they ? ” 

“ Yes, of course, they do.” 

“ Once, when we set fire to a village they 
cried: Pitie, pitie ; I suppose they wanted 
to have us drink with them and afterwards 
let them alone. But we did not mind them 
a bit.” * 

“You can understand their language, 
then ? ” inquired a young man. 

“ Of course I can. It is all Greek to you, 

* The Slavonic verb pie (to drink) enters into the sub- 
stantive picie (pron. pitchiee), a drink; the pronounciation 
of the latter word may be mistaken, by an untrained ear, 
for that of the French pitie, pity. 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


87 


because you are a fool, but with me it is 
different. Done dee pengue^ eh ! ” 

‘‘ Then there was Paris, where we fought 
so many battles. We won every one of 
them, though, for their armies don’t amount 
to anything. The officers know nothing, 
and the generals are fools; but ours were 
splendid.” 

Old Maciej Kierz, a prosperous farmer in 
Pognembin, shook his head and said: 

‘‘Yes, the Germans have won, and the 
war was a terrible one. But God alone 
knows what the result will be to us.” 

Bartek opened his eyes wide and stared 
at him. 

“Nonsense,” said he. 

“ The German’s don^t treat us better than 
they did before. On the contrary, they snub 
us worse than ever, just as if there were no 
God above them. They are abusing us more 
and more, and maltreat us, as they always 
did.” 


88 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


That is a lie,” declared Bartek. 

Old Kierz possessed so much influence with 
the population of Pognembin that the entire 
village might truly be said to think and 
speak through him. It was considered a 
dangerous matter to gainsay him; yet Bar- 
tek was a conspicuous person and entitled, 
as such, to a fair measure of authority. 

In spite of this his words were unfavor- 
ably received, — decidedly so by a great many 
who looked at him in astonishment and be- 
gan even to remonstrate with him. 

‘‘What? Is Maciej not right? What do 
you mean by saying he lies ? ” 

“ It does not concern me. I have spoken 
to persons of greater importance than Maciej* 
Comrades, haven’t I talked with Steinmetz ? 
Was ? Let Maciej think whatever he may, 
just wait and see if we wont get a better 
treatment than before.” 

Kierz glanced at the conqueror. 

“ Idiot,” said he. 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


89 


Bartek struck the table with such a force 
that decanters and glasses moved about in a 
galloppade. 

‘‘Quiet there! Bomben und 

“Nonsense. Go and ask the minister, or 
His Grace at the castle, and let us hear what 
they say about it.” 

“ Did the minister or the Baron ever fight 
a battle ? ” returned Bartek. “ Never, — but 
I did. Comrades, don’t believe his words. 
They are beginning to view us in a different 
light. Why, we won all the battles for them, 
of course we did. They’ll give us all I ask 
of them. If I desire to become a property 
owner in France, they will do it for me. Oh, 
yes, the government knows very well who 
thrashed the Frenchmen. Our regiments 
fought better than all the rest, say the re- 
ports. Poland is better off than ever, if you 
want to know it.” 

Kierz waved his hand in a deprecating 
manner, arose and left the room abruptly. 


90 


TEE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


Bartek began to win battles, too, in the field 
of politics. A number of young fellows re- 
maining behind viewed him in wonder and 
respect. 

“All my wishes wiU be fulfilled, depend 
upon it. Old Kierz is a fool. When the 
government asks us to fight, of course we 
fight. Who would dare to do me any wrong! 
Look at these.” 

He pointed to his medals and emblems. 

“ For whose sake did I thrash the French- 
men ? For the sake of the Hermans? Of 
course not. Now I am far more important 
than a German, for no German has got such 
a number of decorations. Let me have some 
beer. I am entitled to it, for I have talked 
with Steinmetz and Podbielsky. Bring me 
some beer.” 

Soon everybody was drinking heavily. 
Bartek began to sing : 

Drink, drink, drink 1 
Don’t let the silver 
Rust in your pockets — 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


91 


Throwing his money on the table he cried: 

There, take what you want. Now I am 
your lord and master. What a lot of money 
we got hold of in France. Now it is all gone, 
together with the houses we ruined, and the 
people we killed. Yes, we killed a great 
many, especially franctireurs.” 

The mood of drunken persons is known to 
undergo sudden changes. Suddenly Bartek 
scraped his money together and said: 

God be merciful to me, a sinner.” 

Hiding his face in both hands and leaning 
over the back of his chair he relapsed into 
silence.” 

What troubles you ? ” asked some one. 

‘‘ It could not be my fault, — no, it could 
not,” murmured Bartek. But I am sorry 
for them, — they were countrymen of ours. 
God be merciful to me! The one was as 
young and fresh as a rose in bloom; the 
next day he lay there as white as a sheet. 
And then they were buried — even before 
they were cold, — more brandy here ! ” 


92 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


‘‘What nonsense he is saying,” remarked 
one of the company. 

“He may be talking with his conscience,” 
suggested another, more sober individual. 

“Fighting makes me thirsty,” murmured 
Bartek, swallowing a draught and glancing 
vacantly around the room. After a lengthy 
pause he brought himself around. 

“Have any of you fellows ever talked 
with Steinmetz ? Well, I did, you see. Hoo- 
rah! Drink all you want. 111 pay for it.” 

“So, you’ll pay for it, you drunkard,” 
said Magda’s voice. Only wait, I shall pay 
it back to you, depend upon it.” 

Bartek directed his glassy stare towards 
the woman, who assumed a threatening at- 
titude. 

“ Who are you ? Did you talk with Stein- 
metz, perhaps ? ” 

Instead of making any reply Magda turned 
towards the attentive listeners, saying: 

“Friends and neighbors, don’t you pity 


TEE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


93 


my shame and misery? He has returned 
home, and I was in great hopes of his being 
a good and sober man. He disappointed me; 
he returned home as drunk and crazy as a 
beast. He has forgotten his God as well as 
the PoUsh language. After having slept him- 
self sober he sits here, drinking and swear- 
ing, spending the money I have earned by 
honest work. Where did you get that 
money ? Oh, you bad one, you are no more 
a good Catholic; you are a crazy German 
who finds his pleasure in getting honest 
Poles into trouble. You good for nothing, 
you .” 

Bursting into tears she raised her voice by 
an octave, and continued : 

He was a fool, but yet I knew him to be 
a steady harmless fellow. I have kept long- 
ing for him day and night. There is no 
consolation, no pity anywhere. Gracious 
Heaven, that you should become such a 
loafer, such a German.’’ 


94 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


The last words were uttered in a plaintive, 
singing voice. Bartek answered quietly: 
knock your head off.” 

Do it, — knock me dead at once, kill me, 
murder me,” cried Magda passionately and 
stretched her head towards him. That will 
be a sight for you,” added she, addressing 
the listeners. 

But the peasants began to slink off. Soon 
the room was empty except for Magda, who 
stood in the middle of the room, stretching 
out her head, and Bartek, her husband. 

‘‘Why are you standing there — hke a 
goose, and reaching out with your wind- 
pipe ? ” said he. 

“Knock it off .” 

“ Of course I won’t,” declared he, arising 
and staggering forward. 

The landlord who was anxious to have the 
quarrel ended, blew out the only candle yet 
burning in the room. All became quiet and 
dark around them. 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


95 


Knock it off,” repeated Magda. 

I won’t doit,” declared Bartek triumph- 
antly. 

In a little while the moon threw its silvery 
glare over two persons staggering home- 
wards from the inn. Magda cried and wailed. 
Behind her, with bent head, humbly came 
the conqueror from Gravelotte and Sedan. 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


CHAPTEE VII. 

Bartek arrived home in such a state of ex- 
haustion that he was unable to commence 
working for the support of his family. This 
caused great distress in the household which 
needed, more than ever, the strong hands of 
a man for its support. Magda arranged mat- 
ters, however, as well as possible and worked 
every day without exception faithfully as- 
sisted by the Czermienicki family. The small 
earnings were insufficient, however, for the 
support of the little household, and by de- 
grees the family went to the bad. The Slo- 
wik’s had contracted certain debts with a 
Herr Just, a German colonist who possessed 
a tract of excellent land near Pognembin 
and owned, besides, large sums of money 
which he had loaned to the farmers at an 
appalling rate of interest. In the first place 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


97 


he assisted the Baron Jarzynsky with divers 
amounts of money. The Baron’s name fig- 
ured in the Golden Book,* and for this reason 
it became a matter of necessity to maintain 
the standard of elegance and splendour. But 
Herr Just was by no means unwilling to 
lend money to the peasants as weU. For 
nearly six months Magda had owed him the 
sum of twenty dollars, part of which she 
had forwarded to Bartek during the war 
while the remainder was used for household 
purposes. The amount was a small one, 
however, and no doubt God would grant 
them a good harvest. If the farm was prop- 
erly managed she would not need having 
any fear. But Bartek remained perfectly 
inactive; the work did not agree with him, 
and he felt weak. Magda, being sceptical on 
this point, undertook to inquire of the priest 
what might be done in order to induce Bar- 
tek to work, but the preacher merely shook 
♦ The official enumeration of Polish houses of nobility. 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


his head. The ex-soldier suffered from short- 
ness of breath and complained of pains in 
the back as soon as he attempted working in 
the fields. He remained inactive, day by 
day, and seemed contented with sitting in 
the open air, smoking a large clay -pipe, the 
bowl of which was decorated with a likeness 
of Bismarck dressed in a white uniform and 
a cuirassier helmet. His drowsy, worn-out 
expression seemed to suggest that he was 
yet suffering the effects of the previous win- 
ter’s hardship. However that might be, 
Bartek remained for days and weeks in his 
comfortable seat, thinking of the war, pon- 
dering over his own bravery, reflecting upon 
Magda, meditating, — doing nothing. 

One day he was roused by the weeping of 
Franck, his son, who had returned from 
school in a state of great agitation. 

Bartek ceases puffing and addressed the 
boy. 


‘‘Well, Franck, what ails you 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


99 


Ails me ? ” said Franck with a great sob- 
bing. 

What makes you howl so ? ” 

Shouldn’t I howl when IVe got a thrash- 
ing?” 

Who thrashed you ? ” 

^‘Herr Boege, of course.” 

Herr Boege occupied the position of a 
teacher of the public school in Pognembin. 

‘‘ How dared he do it ! ” reflected Bartek. 

‘‘ I suppose he would not ask any one’s 
permission,” returned the boy. 

Magda who had been digging the garden, 
climbed the fence and meddled in the con- 
versation between father and son. 

‘‘ Did you make any mischief ? ” inquired 
she. 

‘‘Not a bit. Boys called me names and 
said I was a Polish pig. The Germans had 
fought the Frenchmen; now they were to 
make a kick at us. Mischief — no, I did not 
make the least httle bit of it, for he asked 


100 


THE FATE OP A SOLDIER 


me who was the greatest man on earth, and 
when I said it was the Holy Father in Eome 
he thrashed me, and when I cried he said I 
was a Polish pig; as they had now fought 
the Frenchmen they were going to make a 

kick The boy continued stating the 

details of the intercourse, according to the 
old prescription: He said, — and I said, — and 

he said . Magda hid her face in her 

apron, turned towards Bartek and cried: 

There you hear, just listen to that. Just 
go and fight the Frenchmen, and let the Ger- 
mans thrash your child like a dog, and call 
him all kinds of names. Just go and fight 
for the Germans. There is your reward, — 
you blockhead, you .” 

Here Magda, seconded by Franck, com- 
menced weeping over her own speech, while 
Bartek opened his eyes wide and remained 
for a considerable length of time too bewil- 
dered to say anything, much less to consider 
what was going on before him. How could 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


101 


it be ? Was this the outcome of his brav- 
ery? 

Having remained immovable in his seat a 
long while he finally decided to commence 
action at once. With shining eyes and the 
blood mounting to his face he jumped from 
his chair. 

In elementary natures astonishment and 
horror often turn into a feeling of rage. 

‘‘ I’ll go and see him.” 

Away he went, — not very far, as the 
school was located in the neighborhood, 
close to the church. He found the teacher 
in the haU, feeding a number of small pigs 
with bread crumbs. 

Herr Boege was a tall man, nearly fifty 
years of age, dignified and robust like an 
oak. His figure was rather slim, only his 
cheeks appeared somewhat chubby and en- 
closed a pair of large, clear eyes expressive 
of courage and energy. 

Bortek stepped forward close to him. 


102 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


‘‘ Why do you strike my child, German, — 
was ? ” said he. 

Boege retreated a few steps, surveyed him 
without evincing the slightest fear, and re- 
plied phlegmatically 

‘‘Out with you, you Polish beast.” 

“ Why did you strike my child ? ” repeated 
Bartek. 

“Do you want me to give you the same 
treatment, you Slavonic idiot? Upon my 
word, I shall make you understand who is 
master here. Confound you, if you don’t seek 
the courts with your complaints. March.” 

Bartek seized the teacher by his arm, 
shook him violently and cried hoarsely : 

“ Do you know me? Do you know who 
thrashed the Frenchmen, and who talked 
with Steinmetz? Why do you strike my 
boy, you Suabian mule ? ” 

Boege’s eyes which projected almost as 
far as Bartek’s own organs and vision, 
seemed almost to start from their sockets. 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIEU 


103 


Being in possession of considerable strength 
he determined to rid himself of his adversary 
by a single stroke. 

The conqueror from Gravelotte and Sedan 
received a terrible blow in his face. The 
effect of it was that the peasant at once lost 
his senses. In him awoke the fearful con- 
queror of the Turcos and the Zouaves. In 
vain Oscar, Boege’s son, attempted to defend 
his father; he was knocked senseless while 
the school -master felt himself hfted from 
the ground. Bartek raised him on his arms 
and threw him out into some direction, — he 
did not know where. Unhappily Boege’s 
wife had placed outside the house a large 
tub of swill for the hogs. A great splash 
was heard, and a few seconds afterwards 
Boege’s legs were seen sprawling about the 
edge of the tub, where he had, in fact, 
landed. 

‘‘Help, help.” 

Frau Boege who had witnessed the affair, 


104 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


hastened to the assistance of her husband 
and upset the tub, whereupon Boege strug- 
gled to his feet and disappeared within the 
house. 

From the neighboring farms several colo- 
nists ran to the assistance of the unfortunate 
schoolmaster. Several of the men rushed 
forward to attack Bartek with sticks and 
other primitive weapons. In the general 
skirmish that followed it was difficult to dis- 
tinguish friend from foe, as a large number 
of sprawhng bodies appeared to become en- 
tangled in one another. 

Suddenly Bartek disengaged himself and 
bounded towards a wiUow hedge which sep- 
arated the yard from the fields. He was 
closely followed by the Germans, who were 
yelling furiously, but suddenly stopped and 
prepared, on seeing Bartek advancing, fiour- 
ishing against them a heavy willow branch, 
for a hasty retreat. 

Bartek advanced, and the Germans at 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


105 


once took to their heels eagerly pursued by 
the conqueror. 

They all luckily escaped. Bartek’s anger 
was considerably cooled, and he, himself 
thought of repairing to his house. He paused 
a short while to think how glorious the re- 
treat would have been, if he had found him- 
self face to face with Frenchmen; history 
would have made such an encounter im- 
mortal. 

The retreat of the German colonists did 
not, however, close the engagement. Bar- 
tek’s pursuers, numbering nearly twenty 
armed men, advanced a second time, slowly 
but surely. Our hero retreated before them, 
not unlike a hog-steer pressed by dogs. Once 
in a while he would stop and face the enemy, 
but the latter attempted no attack. Although 
the willow-branch held-them in due respect 
they commenced throwing stones at the war- 
rior, and one of these missiles struck him in 
the forehead, producing an ugly gash from 


106 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


which the blood streamed down his face. He 
felt weaker and weaker, and finally stum- 
bled, dropped his weapon, and fell. 

‘‘ Hoorah ! ” shouted the colonists. 

Before they reached the spot Bartek, how- 
ever, struggled to his feet. This held them 
in check, as they had often witnessed the 
ferocity of a wounded wolf. The warrior 
might yet be quite dangerous. Besides, the 
Polish district was not far away, and from 
some of the houses there appeared a number 
of young men who seemed inclined to join 
the Slavonic forces. 

So the colonists retired from the campaign 
to their farms. Bartek remained in posses- 
sion of the field. 

‘‘What has happened?” inquired his 
friends. 

“I’ve thrashed the German’s,” declared 
Bartek, panting from exhaustion. He stag- 
gered forward, but stumbled and fell into a 
heavy swoon. 


THE FATE OF A 80LBIEB 


107 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Matters began to take a serious turn. The 
German papers had started divers series of 
articles treating of the malicious persecu- 
tions organized by a barbarous, ignorant 
population against the peaceful German col- 
onists. It had been stated, also, that anar- 
chistic agitation and religious fanaticism 
were highly instrumental in bringing about 
such a condition of affairs. Boege had be- 
come the hero of the day. He, a quiet, gentle 
schoolmaster, who strove for the dissemin- 
ation of knowledge in a remote border-land, 
— he, a true missionary of civilization among 
barbarians, had become a victim of a rebel- 
lion. Happy was he, however, that he might 
count on the loyal support of a hundred mil- 
lion Germans who were ready to defend, etc. 

Bartek received no warning of the im- 


108 the fate of a soldier 

pending storm. He preserved his wonted 
equanimity, always hoping to be acquitted. 
It was a matter of record that Boege had 
struck his child without provocation; after- 
wards he, himself, had been attacked from 
behind. No doubt he had a right to defend 
himself. Some one had thrown a stone 
at him, — at whom ? At a soldier who had 
received countless comphments on account 
of brave conduct; who had won the battle 
of Gravelotte, who had conversed with Stein- 
metz, and distinguished himself in many 
other ways. He never was able to compre- 
hend why the Germans appeared ignorant of 
his high standing, or how they dared abuse 
him in such ways as they did; likewise, how 
Boege could entertain the idea that the Ger- 
mans intended to make a kick at the Pognem- 
binians, since the honourable records of the 
latter during the war had become matters of 
history. Still, as far as he, himself, was con- 
cerned, no doubt the court as weU as the 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


109 


government would stand on his side. Official 
circles were bound, at any rate, to recognize 
his important services. Then, even if they 
all were against him, Steinmetz must recog- 
nise his just claims of recognition. As Bar- 
tek had suffered, in a personal way, heavy 
losses and as he had run deeply into debts, 
justice could not be denied him. 

A body of armed police officers arrived in 
Pognembin with orders to arrest Bartek. 
As they expected to be met with a fair meas- 
ure of resistance, they had been equipped 
with a fair-sized arsenal of fire arms. Their 
anticipation was not, however, fulfilled; 
Bartek attempted no resistance, when they 
ordered him to enter a carriage. Magda was 
disconsolate, as might well be expected, and 
repeated over and over again: 

‘‘Poor dear, why should you ever leave 
home and fight the Frenchmen I ” 

“Be quiet you fool,” said Bartek. 

During the journey he greeted his friends 


110 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


and acquaintances with a glad smile. To 
some of them he cried : I’ll show them 
who has been wronged.” 

He appeared in the court-room as triumph- 
ant and dignified as circumstances would 
permit, displaying all his medals. 

The court proved indeed lenient to him, 
admitting the existence of certain extenua- 
ting circumstances. But in spite of the 
latter Bartek was sentenced to ninety days 
imprisonment, and besides, the court im- 
posed upon him a fine of a hundred and fifty 
Mark damages due to Herr Boege and other 
colonists for bodily molestation. 

The Posener Zeitung mentioned the case 
in the following manner: ‘‘ When the sent- 
ence was announced the prisoner, instead of 
showing any remorse, poured forth such a 
volley of rude language, impudently up- 
braiding the government with his alleged 
merits that the officiating judge would have 
been fully justified in holding him respon- 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


111 


sible for his insults upon the court as well 
as upon the German nation.” 

In the meantime Bartek spent his time in 
jail reviewing to himself his matchless deeds 
at Gravelotte, Sedan and Paris. 

It would be a great injustice, however, to 
maintain that the conduct of Herr Boege 
met with any protest on the part of the pub- 
lic. On a rainy forenoon one of the Polish 
representatives proved to the legislative as- 
sembly that the attitude of the government 
towards the population of Poland had been 
greatly changed; no doubt the population in 
question had derived, on account of its bra- 
very and its readiness to self-sacrifice, a 
greater respect of its rights. He also alluded 
to the fact that Herr Boege had transgressed 
his authority by abusing Polish children; by 
applying to them the worst kinds of appel- 
latives, and by asserting that henceforth the 
German population would make a kick at 
the old inhabitants of the Polish provinces. 


112 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


During this speech the rain was falling 
heavily, and as rainy weather is apt to pro- 
duce sleepiness, so the conservative party 
was constantly yawning, likewise the liber- 
als, and, by contamination, even the social- 
ists. 

When at length this ‘‘ Polish interpella- 
tion ” came up for discussion, the assembly 
proceeded to business. 

Bartek spent his time in prison, or rather 
in the prison hospital to which he had been 
removed when one of his wounds burst open 
and required treatment. As he was not 
troubled by fever he plunged into a sea of 
empty speculation. During his lucida inter- 
valla he often arrived at the result that pos- 
sibly he might have fought the Frenchmen 
without sufficient reason. 

In the meantime, Magda became more and 
more distressed. The fine must be paid, and 
the woman was left entirely without resour- 
ces. The preacher had promised to lend some 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


113 


assistance, but it was found that the total of 
available funds would scarcely exceed forty 
Marks. The congregation was poor, and, 
besides, the reverend gentlemen never re- 
membered how his money was spent. The 
Baron Jarzynski had gone abroad; it was 
rumoured that the object of his journey was 
to win the affections of some wealthy lady 

in the Kingdom. So Magda was almost at 

CA' 

his wit’s end. 

A prolongation of the term of payment 
could not be obtained. She had determined 
to delay selling the house, or the cow, as 
long as possible. The summer was coming 
on, — the very worst time of the year. Her 
provisions had given out; the household re- 
quired money, and soon the harvest would 
require attention. She became utterly des- 
perate, beseeching the authorities to treat 
her leniently; but no reply was forthcoming, 
although she had set forth an account of her 
husband’s merits, as best she knew. The 


114 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


day set for the payment of the fine drew 
alarmingly near, and yet her prospects were 
as disheartening as before. 

She prayed to God for help and relief, 
mindful of the times when they had ample 
means, and Bartek was working at the fac- 
tory. The neighbors to whom she applied 
for help, possessed no ready money, as the 
war had exhausted their means. Herr Just 
was not to he thought of, as she was already 
owing him a small amount, the interest of 
which had not even been paid yet. Still, the 
gentlemen just mentioned appeared on the 
scene quite imexpectedly. 

‘^’Morning.” 

‘‘ Good morning, Herr Just. How do you 
do?’^ 

‘‘How about my money ?” 

“Oh, my dear Herr Just, what do you 
expect of a woman in my position ? They 
have put my husband in prison, and I am 
required to pay his fine. I don’t know what 


TEE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


115 


to do, in fact, I’d lie down and die rather 
than suffering such agony day by day. I 
expect you to wait a while, dear Herr Just.” 

She burst into tears and bent forward to 
kiss the plump, red hand of the German. 

^‘When His Grace at the castle returns 
home I intend to ask him for assistance, and 
then you will receive your money.” 

Then, how do you expect to pay the 
fine ? ” 

‘‘ I don’t know. Probably I shall be forced 
to sell the cow.” 

‘‘In that case I am ready to advance the 
necessary amount.” 

“ God bless you, dear Herr Just. Although 
a Lutheran you are a kind and benevolent 
man. If all Germans were like you, we 
should have no cause for complaint.” 

“But I do not loan money without inter- 
est.” 

“ Certainly not. Oh, no ! ” 

“ Then you may as well sign these pa- 
pers.” 


116 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


To be sure I will.” 

‘‘ Call at my office and have the matter 
settled.” 

He returned to the village, while Magda 
repaired to the preacher soliciting his advice. 
What could she do but accept the offer! The 
preacher considered the time too short and 
the interest too large; he regretted the ab- 
sence of the Baron who would no doubt 
have declared himself ready to assist her. 
Under the circumstances nothing was to be 
done, however, except making use of the 
opportunity. The total of his indebtedness 
amounted to three hundred Mark, twice the 
sum of the fine. When the latter was paid 
she would be in possession of a few Marks 
for daily expenses. 

Bartek whose consent was necessary to 
make the papers binding promptly affixed 
his signature, on which occasion Magda vis- 
ited him in his cell. The hero was consid- 
erably downcast, dispirited; he had not yet 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


117 


recovered from his sickness. He intended 
to lodge a complaint of the great wrong that 
he had suffered. His oral appeal to the court 
had not even been received. On the whole, 
the notice in the Posener Zeitung had preju- 
diced the authorities against him, and it 
was generally conceded that the peaceful 
German population had a right to be guarded 
against all attempts of encroachments upon 
their rights, especially since it had given 
abundant proof, during the war and on 
other occasions, of its patriotism and de- 
votion. Hence, there was ample occasion 
for rejecting Bartek’s complaints, and no 
wonder that the ex-soldier appeared down- 
cast. 

I suppose we are going to the dogs,” 
said he to his wife. 

Dear me, I’m afraid we are,” returned 
Magda. 

Bartek pondered. 

“ I have suffered a great wrong,” said he. 


118 THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 

‘‘ Boege is persecuting the boy,” continued 
the woman. ‘‘I called at his house and 
asked him leave the child alone, but he 
merely abused me. Oh, the Germans are 
gaining headway in Pognembin; they are 
afraid of nobody.” 

‘‘Yes, they are forming a very strong 
party,” assented Bartek in a tone of despon- 
dency. 

“ I am only a plain woman, yet I say God 
is stronger.” 

“We must take refuge with him,” said 
the prisoner. 

After a short pause he resumed: 

“What of Just?” 

“If God almighty would grant us a good 
harvest probably we might raise the money. 
Probably His Grace at the castle will assist 
us, although he is, himself, troubled with 
debts. I wish he would marry the lady 
abroad.” 


“ Will he return soon ? ” 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


119 


‘‘No one knows. Some say he will soon 
return home with his young wife. But the 
Germans may demand all he has. Oh, those 
Germans, they push themselves forward 
everywhere, like vermin, both in the village 
and among the farmers. Surely, that must 
be a visitation for our sins, and I don’t see 
how we shall ever be released.” 

“You are a sensible woman. I hope you 
will manage the alfair some way or other.” 

“ How could I ? Did I not accept Just’s 
offer in spite of myself ? According to law 
the hut and the land is his property, still he 
is better than most Germans, even if he 
minds his own profit before thinking of any 
one else. Nobody ever knew him to be len- 
ient, so there is no hope whatever for us, 
from that source. I am not blind, of course, 
to the reason why he offered such a large 
increase of the loan, but there was nothing 
to do but accept. Why can’t you advise 
me, as you consider yourself better than all 


120 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


others. You’ve fought the Frenchmen, now 
you’d better try to find a roof and a bite for 
us. 

The hero from Gravelotte looked per- 
plexed. 

‘‘ Oh, Jesus, — Jesus ! ” 

His sorrowful expression softened her. 

“Poor boy, don’t let me give you too 
much trouble. I forgot your wound is not 
yet healed. I hope God will grant us a good 
year; thus far the rye has been growing so 
well that sometimes I think of bending down 
to kiss the soil. The wheat, too, is in good 
shape. So the soil, at least, is faithful; it 
never wrongs any one. After all, in spite 
of all the war and of all other things, the 
crop promises well 

And Magda smiled through her tears. 

“ The soil isn’t German,” said she. 

“Magda,” cried Bartek, staring at her, 
and with a new light in her eyes, “Magda 

I 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


121 


'‘Wnatis it?” 

‘‘Oh, you are , you are 

She had comforted him without realizing 
it, and he felt as grateful to her as a child, 
but without being able to give expression to 
this feeling. 


122 


THE FATE OF A 80LDIER 


CHAPTER IX. 

lu certain respects Magda was superior to 
most of her kind; she chided Bartek, and 
yet her devotion to him was perfectly sin- 
cere. On certain occasions she might call 
him foolish and thoughtless, yet it troubled 
her sorely when others agreed with her on 
this point. ‘‘My Bartek,” said she, “will 
sometimes appear a great fool, yet he is really 
a sly fellow.” Really Bartek possessed about 
as much slyness as an average horse, and in 
the absence of Magda would never have 
managed affairs at home. At present the 
welfare of the family was dependent all to- 
gether upon her, and as she had once begun 
trudging around and arranging matters Bar- 
tek was at liberty to take his ease. One day 
she returned home from one of her numerous 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 123 

expeditions and entering Bartek’s cell hur- 
riedly exclaimed: 

Bartek, old man, listen to what I’ve got 
to tell you. The Baron has returned home, 
and, indeed, the girl accepted him. She 
looks as soft and red as a berry, besides, she 
brought him piles and piles of money.” 

The inteUigence was correct in every par- 
ticular, Jarzynsky having succeeded in uni- 
ting his fate with that of a young lady en- 
dowed with considerable wealth. 

‘‘ Well, and then ? ” returned Bartek. 

Keep still and don’t behave like a fool,” 
returned Magda. I got nearly out of breath. 
Well, you know, I stepped forward to greet 
Her Grace, and there — there she came — 
towards me — hke a queen, hke a flower, oh, 
so beautiful! How hot it is here; — no, stop 
and let me tell you all about her.” 

She flung away her shawl and wiped her 
face as eagerly as she was talking. 

Her gown was as shining as one of the 


124 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


blue field fiowers, and I wanted to kiss her 
feet, but instead she reached out both of her 
small, white hands, — oh, such fine hands, 
as small as those of a baby. She looks ex- 
actly as a saint, and, then, her heart is pure 
and kind, and she promised not to forget 
the poor ones. I spoke to her and begged 
her remember us; then she replied: I shall 
do all that I can to assist you.” What a fine 
voice she has ! When she speaks one is al- 
most ready to go down on her knees before 
her. Well, and then I told her how much 
misery there is in Pognembin. I could not 
help crying,, and she cried too, poor dear, 
until His Grace came over and began kiss- 
ing and caressing her. Men are so funny, 
you know. But she says to him: ‘‘Do all 
you can for this woman.” “ All you want,” 
says he. Heaven bless the dear lady for 
her kindness, she is so sweet. His Grace 
said to me: “You have done a great wrong 
in meddling with the Germans; still, I am 
willing to pay your debt by Just.” 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


125 


Bartek scratched his head. 

‘‘ But haven’t the Germans caught pretty 
well hold of the Baron, himself ? ” inquired 
he. 

What ? The Lady is wealthy; she may 
be able to buy all the Germans in Pognem- 
bin. The election is drawing near, and the 
Baron said you should not give your vote to 
the Germans, then he would be willing to 
pay our debts and teach Boege a lesson. He 
inquired about your health and said he 
would talk with the doctor; then you would 
receive a certificate of poor health and be 
allowed to return home. If you were not 
pardoned you might serve the remainder of 
your sentence next winter, but as the har- 
vest draws near you must return home as 
soon as possible, — do you understand it all 1 
To-day the doctor will be invited to Pog- 
nembin; he has received an invitation from 
the Baron. So next winter you will return 
to this snug and warm place where you get 


126 


TEE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


your meals gratis, but iu a few day you 
must go back and attend to your work. Just 
will receive his money, you know, and next 
fall we shall have money enough to return 
the money to the Baron who will ask no in- 
terest of us. And if we cannot pay it all I’ll 
go and talk to Her Grace, and ask her to 
speak a word in our favor, — she is a perfect 
angel, you know. WeU, what do you say 
She must be an excellent lady,” declared 
Bartek with great energy. 

You must drop on you knees before her, 
— if you don’t I’ll knock your brains out. 
Oh, I hope God will give us a good harvest.” 

Now you’ve found out, I suppose, who are 
our true friends, and who are ready to lend 
us a hand. Were they Germans, perhaps ? 
Did ever Germans give you anything except 
those silly medals ? They have abused you 
in all possible ways. I say, you’d better 
drop on your knees before her.” 

^^I’ll do it,” resolutely promised Bartek. 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 127 

Fate appeared to be again favouring the 
conqueror. A few days after Magda’s last 
visit he was notified that the authorities had 
decided, on account of his poor health, to re- 
lease him for a time. Before returning home 
he was to appear before the justice, which 
he did, trembling with fear. This farmer 
who had gained one victory after another 
and conquered standards and cannon, really 
found himself quaking before a uniform; he 
was seized with an indefinite feeling of hor- 
ror at the idea of being an object of pursuit, 
and the fact that his enemies were in abso- 
lute command of his life and destiny added 
to his misery. Some terrible power stood 
ready to crush him as soon as he would un- 
dertake to liberate himself. There he stood 
before the justice, as he had appeared, under 
quite different circumstances, before Stein- 
metz, straight as a rush and almost afraid 
of breathing. Some officers were present, 
completing the martial appearance of the 


128 the fate of a soldier 

episode. The ex-soldier was sternly scanned 
from head to foot through sparkling eye- 
glasses in gold frames and presented a true 
picture of such internal and external wretch- 
edness as a Prussian officer regards with 
profound contempt. He held his breath while 
the justice addressed him in a tone of su- 
preme authority. The judge of Bartek’s fate 
neither begged nor persuaded, but com- 
manded and threatened the prisoner. One of 
the representatives of the electoral district 
had died, and his place was to be filled by a 
new election. 

‘‘ Polish idiot, — beware of voting in favor 
of Jarzynsky, beware of it.” 

The eyebrows of the officers were con- 
tracted in a threatening and demonstrative 
manner. One chewed the end of his cigar, 
repeating the words of the justice: Beware 
of it.” Bartek’s breath had almost stopped. 
When at length the long expected word 
‘‘March ” struck his ears, he turned around 


TEE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


129 


and soon found his breath in the open air. 
The order he had received weighed but 
lightly upon him; he was happy at the pros- 
pect of returning to Pognembin and reaping 
his rye and wheat. Around him lay the 
open land with its yellow corn-fields and the 
many millions of heavy ears that swayed be- 
fore the wind and touched one another with 
a faint rush — the sound a farmer never for- 
gets. Bartek was yet somewhat weak, but 
the sun warmed him through and through . 
What a beautiful land, what a splendid 
world! And he was near his home. 


130 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


CHAPTER X. 

Election! Election. The Lady Jarzynsky 
has heard so much of it that she can think, 
talk and dream of nothing else. 

‘^Mylady is a great politician,” says one of 
the neighbors, a szlachcic, or squire, kissing 
her hand, smacking like a dragon, while she, 
the great politician, is blushing deeply and 
replies, with a graceful smile: 

Oh, well, we are keeping up the agita- 
tion as well as possible.” 

“No doubt Pan,* Joseph will be elected,” 
announces the szlachcic in a tone of pro- 
found conviction. She replies: 

“ I certainly hope he will, not only for his 
own sake, but also — here the treacherous 
blush again covers the face of “the great poli- 


*Sir. 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


131 


tician’’ — for the sake of the common wel- 
fare 

veritable Bismarck, upon my word 

cries the szlacheic, again touching 

her fine, white hands with his lips. And 
then they discuss the campaign. 

The szlachcic is ready to manage the affair 
in Lower Krzywda and Mizerow. Upper 
Krzywda is already in the hands of Schul- 
berg, the enemy. The Lady Marie will take 
upon herself the town of Pognembin. 

The new role is absorbing her attention 
almost to the extent of making her head 
burn. Day by day she moves about the 
highroad visiting lowly huts. One hand lifts 
up the skirts, the other is holding a parasol, 
and beneath it all her small feet are tripping 
eagerly to and fro among the many import- 
ant political questions. She enters the huts, 
or greets the farmers in their fields with a 
mild “God’s peace.” She attends the sick 
and ministers to the afilicted in all possible 


132 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


ways. Of course she would do so even if 
politics did not exist, for her heart is as good 
as gold. Still, politics are spurning her, it 
cannot be doubted. What would she not do 
for the sake of promoting the cause she is 
serving ? Her desire of attending the politi- 
cal meetings is great, but she is afraid of tel- 
ling her husband, — and yet she has dared 
meditating on the speech she would deliver 
on such an occasion, if she were called upon 
to do it. What a superb speech. Of course 
she would not dare to make this speech, and 
yet, if she did it certainly could not fail to 
make a profound and lasting impression 
upon the audience. When it was ruminated 
that the authorities had dissolved these meet- 
ings, the great politician went back to her 
room and burst into tears from sheer anger, 
tore one of her handkerchiefs to pieces and 
appeared with red eyes when the paroxysm 
was over. Her husband implored her not to 
fret about the matter, but in vain. The next 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


133 


day she set about her duties even more 
eagerly than ever, and the Lady Marie was 
baffled by nothing on earth. She entered a 
number of German houses and scolded the 
Germans in such a way that the Baron was 
obliged to restrain her. Still, there was no 
danger of her working any harm anywhere. 
Everybody received her kindly, kissed her 
hands and smiled upon her as they would 
smile upon a rosebud. Wherever she pays 
her visits she leaves behind her a feeling of 
life and gladness. 

In due course she arrives at Bartek’s house, 
but the dog is refusing her admittance. 
Magda remonstrates with the dog by throw- 
ing a piece of wood at him. 

‘‘Mylady! cries Magda, hastening forward 
to kiss the small, white hand that is resting 
on the handle of the gate. 

Bartek throws himself on the ground be- 
fore her Ladyship, according to his resolu- 
tion, and little Franck kisses the fairy hand, 


134 


TEE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


sucks on his fingers and retires to a corner, 
where he remains lost in admiration. 

I hope,” says the lady, I certainly hope, 
my dear Bartek, that you will give your vote 
to the Baron and not waste it on the man 
Schulberg.” 

“Why, certainly,” cries Magda. “No- 
body will mind Schulberg the least, nobody 
will vote for him. The deuce take him, — I 
beg your Ladyship’s pardon, but when Ger- 
mans are mentioned I cannot tame my 
tongue.” 

“My husband has been talking of adjust- 
ing the affair between yourselves and Just.” 

“ God bless you! ” says Magda, and turn- 
ing to Bartek, continues: “Why don’t you 
say anything, you blockhead ? I hope your 
Ladyship will pardon his behaviour, but he 
never says much.” 

“Well,” resumes her Ladyship, “I hope 
you will not fail to vote in favor of the 
Baron. You are a Polander, and we all are 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


185 


obliged to support one another, are we not ? 
‘‘ril knock him dead if he gives his vote 
to any other candidate,” asserted Magda. 

Why don’t you tell her Ladyship that you 
are ready to support our own party. Well, 
he never says much, anyhow. Don’t sit 
down in her Ladyship’s presence, — get out 
of that chair.” 

Bartek obeys and kisses the white hand, 
but his thoughts are sad, and he cannot ex- 
press them. His mind is occupied with the 
stern command of the justice, through which 
he has been confronted with the problem of 
serving two masters. 


Election day has arrived, and Pan Jarzyn- 
sky is confident of being elected. From 
neighboring towns and villages visitors ar- 
rive in great numbers and are cordially re- 
ceived. The gentlemen have already visited 
the election tables, whereupon they remain 
at the castle awaiting the results which will 


136 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


be announced by the preacher at the earliest 
opportunity. A great dinner party will be 
held, and towards evening Mylord and My- 
lady will board the train for Poznan, where 
they intend to stay a short while before 
going to Berlin. 

Some of the villages have completed their 
voting on the evening before, and results are 
satisfactory so far. In a few hours the final 
results will be communicated, and the party 
at the castle is hopeful. 

Her Ladyship is a trifle nervous, yet she 
moves about the rooms with a kind word 
and a smile for every one. As a hostess she 
is perfect in every way, and the guests whis- 
per to one another that Pan Jarzynsky has 
won a perfect treasure in the Kingdom. The 
said treasure cannot maintain her dignity, 
however, but passes from one group to an- 
other for the purpose of being assured that 
Joseph wiU certainly be elected.” Though 
not over- ambitious, and even though she 


THE FATE OP A SOLDIER 137 

has no special desire of becoming the wife of 
a member of the legislative assembly, she 
has taken into her youthful head the idea 
that her husband is really bound to fulfil a 
mission among his kind, — a mission in which 
she, herself, has a part. Whenever she 
chances to look at him both smile as hap- 
pily as children. Every few seconds some- 
body opens the window to see if the preacher 
has arrived. 

The matter is, in fact, of considerable im- 
portance, as the deceased member was a 
Pole, and this is the first occasion on which 
the Germans have chosen a candidate of their 
own race. Evidently the late war has in- 
spired them with courage, but on this very 
account the Polish party is anxious about 
the election of its own candidate. Although 
dinner has not yet been served patriotic ex- 
clamations are not wanting; they make a 
deep impression upon her Ladyship who is 
not accustomed to them. From time to time 


138 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIEE 


she is seized with an attack of fear. Suppose 
some one willfully made a mistake in count- 
ing the votes! No, it could not be, as the com- 
mittee was not composed of Germans alone. 
Some elderly gentlemen take upon them- 
selves to explain how the counting of votes 
is made, and she is listening attentively al- 
though it has been explained in her presence 
at least a hundred times. The important 
question is whether or not the Polish ele- 
ment will be represented in the Reichstag 
by a friend or by an enemy. 

In a short while the problem is solved. A 
cloud of dust is passing along the road 
toward the castle. 

‘‘The preacher is there, the priest is com- 
ing!” 

Excitement is plainly written on all faces, 
and her Ladyship turns pale. Every one is 
sure of victory, yet the decision makes the 
party feel particularly uneasy. The dust 
cloud was found to contain, however, the 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


139 


village magistrate, who arrives on horse- 
back, descends and ties his steed by a post 
near the gate, whereupon he is hastening 
towards the building. A number of guests 
headed by the hostess rush forward to meet 
him. 

‘ ‘ Do you know anything ! Who is elected ? 
What do you know about the election ? 
When will the results be made known ? ” 

Questions are flying to and fro. The peas- 
ant throws his cap into the air and roars 
out: 

‘‘ His Lordship has been elected.” 

The Baroness throws herself on a bench 
and presses both hands against her bosom. 

One servant after another comes running 
forward, crying: Hoorah ! Germans have 
been defeated. Long live the Baron and 
the Baroness ! ” 

The new member of the Reichstag orders 
dinner to be served at once. 

Some one inquires about the priest. 


140 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIEU 


“He will arrive in a few minutes,” says 
the bailiff, “the last votes are being 
counted.” 

The party returns fco the salon, where 
congratulations are exchanged on a large 
scale. The Baroness is unable to conceal 
her joy; she throws herself around her hus- 
band’s neck regardless of the company. 
Enthusiasm becomes general. 

“We are yet of some consequence, are 
we not ? ” observes one of the guests from 
Mizerow. 

A rattling of wheels is heard outside, 
whereupon the priest enters with old Maciej. 

“Welcome, — welcome!” cries everybody. 
“ What was our majority ?” 

The priest remains quiet one brief mo- 
ment, then draws himself up and hurls 
against the enthusiastic assembly the fol- 
lowing three words: 

“'Schulberg is elected.” 

After a short pause of terror and aston- 


TEE FATE OF A SOLDIER 141 

ishment a shower of questions strike the 
speaker, who merely repeats the appalling 
message: 

‘‘Schulberg is elected.” 

^‘What! How so? The bailiff said he 
was defeated. — What is the matter? — What 
has happened ? ” 

Pan Jarzynsky leads his young wife into 
another room. She is struck almost to the 
extent of fainting. 

“How terrible,” says everybody, while 
cries of joy and exultation are heard from 
the village. The Germans are proud of 
their victory. 

The Baron and the Baroness return to the 
room after a brief absence. In the door he 
turns around and addresses her in a low 
whisper: II faut faire bonne mine ” And 

her Ladyship does not weep; her eyes are 
dry, but considerably red and swollen. 

“How did it happen?” quietly asks Jar- 
zynsky. 


142 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


‘‘It must happen, Mylord,” explains the 
minister, “when the farmers — even those 
of Pognembin — vote in favor of Schulberg.” 

“Who did that?” 

“ Many of us noticed that Bartek Slowik 
voted in favor of the Germans.” 

“Bartek Slowik ?” cries the Baroness. 

“Certainly. Somebody is scolding him 
now, and the fellow crawls in the dust be- 
fore his wife, who threatens to kill him. — 
I was, myself, present when he stepped for- 
ward to vote.” 

“ Such fellows deserve to be expelled from 
the village,” suggests the visitor from Mize- 
row. 

“Mylady,” says Maciej,” a great many of 
those who served in the army voted as Slo- 
wik did, and they maintain they are acting 
under strict orders. 

A great many of those present spoke of 
pressure on electors, swindling, fraud, and 
the hke. 


TEE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


143 


Dinner was served amidst a gloomy si- 
lence, and towards evening Jarzynsky and 
his wife departed for Dresden — not Berlin. 

In his hut Bartek, damned, despised and 
scorned by everybody, was spending the re- 
mainder of this unhappy day, a stranger to 
every one, even to his wife who refused to 
speak to him. 


Towards fall God granted the inhabitants 
of Pognembin a rich harvest, and Herr Just, 
who had come into possession of Bartek^s 
estate prided himself on having made a 
good investment. 

One day three persons left Pognembin: 
A peasant with his wife and child. The 
man stooped considerably and bore the ap- 
pearance of an old miner, or stonecutter. 
They were obliged to leave the village, as 
nobody cared to employ their service. 

The weather was cold and rainy. Magda 
wept bitterly over the loss of her house and 


144 


THE FATE OF A SOLDIER 


home. Bartek never spoke. Aside from a 
crufix at the roadside no human figure was 
visible anywhere. The rain fell more and 
more heavily, and darkness settled upon the 
whole land. 

Bartek, Magda and Franck are leaving 
Pognembin for the neighboring town, where 
the conqueror from Gravelotte, Sedan and 
Paris will spend a month in prison on ac- 
count of his assault on Boege. 

The Baron Jarzynsky and Mylady are yet 
staying in Dresden. 


THE END. 



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